The Homecoming
by LowDesert
Summary: The Dark Knight of Gotham. The Mistress of Magic. Two individuals brought together by circumstance, bound together by dark desires. The Outer Darkness is calling them; can their love and the love of their friends, Superman and Wonder Woman, lead them to the light, or will they fall? What sacrifice will be made to save the world from the evil forces that strive to tear it apart. AU.
1. Chapter 1 - Strega

**[This story follows my prior cycle of stories in this order: The Red House,** **The Place Where the Black Stars Hang, and The Returned]**

 **Chapter One – Strega**

The young magician Zatanna Zatara strolled down the streets of her beloved San Francisco, enjoying the brisk yet sunny day. Many others passed by her - tourists and locals - but she wasn't recognized. Out of her stage costume, she didn't look too unordinary, at least for San Francisco: her long black hair was pulled up in a bun, she was dressed in dark blue yoga pants, suede boots, and a black leather jacket over a loose black blouse.

Zatanna hadn't been out in her city incognito like this for some time, so it was a nice feeling for her. She wished she could just walk and continue walking, maybe all the way to the Embarcadero and watch the seals sunning on the pier. But she had a destination, as reluctant as she was to go to it. It just seemed too nice a day to spend indoors, to have to deal with what she knew was coming.

As she strolled, she couldn't help but notice that the numbers of homeless had increased since the last time she was home; they were huddled in doorways or passed out on the sidewalk, more than a few. Well-dressed-and-fed men and women pretended not to see or hear them. There were reports that tourists had been robbed or assaulted; the authorities promised more outreach services, more police patrols, but nothing ever seemed to change.

Zatanna thought of how San Francisco was beginning to be labeled the 'Gotham City of the West.' She thought that was unfair, but even she had been accosted once. Although she had disarmed the man and offered to get him help, it was evident he didn't have the mental capacity to help himself. There was nothing the police or the hospital would do. So now he was probably somewhere out on the streets right now. It was a shame, she thought.

That would be something that would likely come up in the board meeting, Zatanna knew. She thought of how Batman might have handled her situation, probably rather different than she had dealt with it. He would probably be discussed too. In fact, she was certain of it. Zatanna didn't particularly feel like discussing him at all, for various reasons, a reason she wasn't looking forward to today's meeting at the Alighieri.

The Alighieri Club was a San Francisco landmark, founded in 1936 as a place where magicians and showmen could meet (and compete) and put on their magic shows. It also served as a museum and store. It had outfits worn by Houdini, props used by Penn & Teller and David Copperfield. It stocked every item an aspiring or expert magician could want, from a child wanting to learn a beginner's trick, or an established performer building up his or her stage show. It was world-famous, maybe not as famous as the Golden Gate Bridge or the Alhambra Theater, but every magician in the world knew about the Alighieri and aspired to play there someday.

Zatanna saw it ahead of her, its sign brightly painted in old-style font, incongruous amongst the liquor stores and fast-food joints it was sandwiched between. She paused, before it, getting control of the memories that threatened to overwhelm her every time she laid eyes on it. Then, she stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the dimmer interior, the first thing she saw were the huge posters of famous magicians that lined the walls, some of them very old and virtually priceless. One was of Zatara, from the early 1980s. She saw a few tourists browsing the displays with books on magic and DVDs. In addition to the magic supplies for sale the store sold the usual tourist tchotkes: postcards, shot glasses, keychains, refrigerator magnets, maps of the city and other junk. The actual club itself was adjacent, past a ticket booth.

She saw a salesclerk she didn't know assisting one of the shoppers, but she immediately recognized the other person behind the counter. She waved.

"Hi Joe! Long time no see!"

"Zatanna!"

Joe the Manager (that was what everyone called him, his actual surname was long and Dutch) was a big man with a bushy greying beard to match and ponytail: if the Alighieri had been a comic book store, he would have looked like he just stepped out of _The Simpsons._ "How are you, lady? We've missed you!"

He came out from behind the register and gave her a bear hug. She laughed, feeling a little better. "Just been busy, I guess."

"Excuse me? Aren't you...the daughter of Giovanni Zatara?" A middle-aged woman, clad in the standard tourist uniform of flowery blouse, white cargo shorts, and sandals, hesitantly asked her.

"Yes, that's me."

"Oh my…I just wanted to say, I _loved_ your father's shows! I saw him once, oh, when was that, it must have been _years_ ago, when we lived in Dallas. Ed, what year was that?" She shouted behind her.

The woman's husband, an equally portly and middle-aged individual, studiously keeping his back to them as he examined the selection of shot glasses, mumbled in reply: "Dunno."

"Well, anyway, we just _loved_ it, and I saw him twice at least. He was _so_ exciting, and I have to say I just _loved_ his Italian accent!" The woman giggled, sounding very young at that moment. "It was very sexy!"

Zatanna smiled, she always enjoyed hearing her father remembered and praised. She knew that Zatara turned up his native accent only when he had an audience of mostly women. It clearly worked. Ordinarily, her father sounded as Italian as Leonardo DiCaprio.

The woman gushed on for a few moments, until her husband got bored. She ended up purchasing a couple of magnets, postcards, a $2.79 bottle of water, and a small booklet describing famous American magicians. She asked if Zatanna could autograph the page that had the one-paragraph bio and photo of Zatara and she obliged.

Joe the Manager chuckled as they walked out the door, the guy clearly in a hurry to get away, the wife protesting. "She didn't even ask about _your_ magic show!"

Zatanna shrugged. "That's all right. Did you see that guy she was with? You just know she had to drag him in here in the first place!"

Joe laughed with her, but his laughter had an edge of sadness to it. "Well, they might have made our biggest sale for the day: twenty-five dollars worth of junk and none of it magic related."

Zatanna's face fell. "Is business really that bad?"

"Zee, I've been working here, what, nearly twenty years now, and it's the worst I've seen. That's a lot. They say it's the economy I guess, and now that they've passed the minimum wage requirement, well…"

He nodded his head towards the young salesclerk restocking the postcard rack. Zatanna correctly guessed she was part-time, and a community-college student just trying to earn her share of the rent money. "I don't know how we're going to get by. We can barely keep help behind the counter as it is."

"I guess that's what the Board Meeting is about," Zatanna replied glumly.

"Yeah. _They're_ already in the back."

She sighed. "I guess there's no avoiding it, then."

Joe smiled reassuringly. "Let's go in together. I'm braver when you're with me!"

"I was about to say the same about you!"

There was a section of the store next to the counter marked "Employees Only Beyond This Point." Beyond was the manager's small office, the employee restrooms, and the maintenance closet. Beyond that was another cordoned-off area, where the employees weren't allowed to go, only Joe the Manager, and then only when he was invited. A crudely-carved, old-fashioned-looking door marked the entry. Zatanna pushed it open without hesitation.

It opened onto a room that would not have looked out of place in a 19th-century mansion or palace. The walls were of reddish, rich colors, giving it a warm and antique atmosphere, as did the furnishings, which included full bookshelves all along the walls and oil paintings of European landscapes. Light came from ornate, art-deco lamps. The most imposing feature of the room was its central hexagonal table of polished black marble. There were mystic designs on its surface, incised with pure gold, and high-backed leather chairs around it.

As Joe the Manager said, there were already three other individuals present. They looked up as the two entered.

The most imposing figure in the room was the only one standing. The Baron Winters was a tall and imposing man, over six feet in height, with a thin, dark beard and narrow eyes, his hair slicked back from his forehead and stretching down to his collar. Dressed in a neat, dark-colored suit, he could have easily looked the part of a European spy, or maybe a gangster. But he was much more cunning and powerful - and dangerous - than a common human spy or gangster could ever be. He seemed always to have an air of haughty disapproval about him, which he often turned on Zatanna, sometimes for good reason, sometimes not.

Next to him, seated, was Madame Xanadu. She could easily have passed for a tarot card reader, which she was, and did, on special occasion for long-time Alighieri customers by appointment-only, or she could have been a hippie vendor at the Burning Man Festival. She was dressed in colorful layers of skirt and scarves, and adorned with hoop earings, bangles, and rings, a purple headwrap concealing her raven-black hair. She could have passed for twenty, or maybe forty: Zatanna had known her all her life, but even she could not say exactly how old she was...only that she was very, very old. She smiled warmly as she saw Zatanna enter, something Winters did not do.

The third person present was not actually a person, and it didn't exactly please Zatanna to see him here. Fuselli was a nightmare imp, a creature who existed in two worlds, the human and the supernatural. Such beings were not unknown to the magician; they had engaged in magickal battle in the past, with the result that Zatanna had wrested a vow from him never to interfere with her dreams again, but their compact had apparently been open to interpretation. Now, he had become a persistent irritant in her waking world, up to it seemed involving himself in her personal and business life. At least he had chosen not to manifest in his true form, which was about as appealing as Gollum. But his appearance as a human dwarf was only slightly better, since he seemed to get his dress-style from watching rap videos.

"And the circle is complete," Fuselli pronounced with amusement as the two entered. "The Board of Directors is all here."

"Zatanna," Xanadu said, accepting a deferential embrace and kiss from the younger magician. "It's so good to see you again." Her voice held the slight British accent retained by long-term expats.

"Let's get started then," Winters said impatiently, taking his seat. He gestured impatiently for Joe to start up the laptop he had brung.

A bit nervously, Joe did so. He had been employed here a long time and well-understood the pecking order; he was somewhere near the bottom. His voice and demeanor gradually become more confident and assured as he went through the books, citing records and invoices and expenditures.

"So what you're saying," Fuselli finally interrupted after about a half-hour of financial babble. "Is that we're running in the red and will very likely continue to do so."

Joe coughed nervously. "Yes. I am sorry but we can't continue to operate without another substantial investment of capital..."

"Isn't there some, I mean, is there anything we can do to cut costs?" Zatanna asked.

"Well, unless we go to compost toilets and candles, we might be able to save on the water and electricity."

"Your comedy is not appreciated," Winters said. Joe just shrugged - he was used to the boss's mercurial mood.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Winters, but there is a bigger picture here. The economy right now simply can't support a business like this. Tourists aren't coming to San Francisco for this kind of magic anyway and taxes have gone up. Business incentives are for high-tech industries, not for our kind of business."

Zatanna winced. It wasn't that she minded financially supporting the Alighieri, but Joe was right. Places like the Alighieri were becoming outdated, and this city was not exactly a business-friendly environment. Joe had done the best he could - they all had - but the writing was on the wall.

"...and also, I've been thinking about retiring," Joe added. "I've had some health problems and my sister has been asking me to move up to Portland to live with her."

"You can't leave now, we need you!" Zatanna was stunned.

"Thank you Zee, but I think it's about time. You've all been very generous, so I won't go until we've gotten some resolution with our bills."

"You've been of inestimable service, Joe," Xanadu said sincerely. "We hope you won't leave us for awhile yet."

"We can't let the Alighieri Club go under," Zatanna insisted. "This is a historical landmark!"

"Looks like historical doesn't pay the bills," Fuselli remarked.

"The Alighieri is more than just a business," Xanadu said in quiet reproach. "The lore of many magicians is stored here."

"Can that lore pay some bills?"

"Xanadu's right, the Alighieri can't go under," Zatanna insisted. "Maybe there's something the city can do."

"I've tried," Joe shook his head. "We're not an 'official' historical landmark. We would have to apply, and even if we got the designation, the city would effectively be in charge of everything that went on here. Can you imagine?"

"No," Winters said. "That's not going to happen."

"No," Joe agreed. "They don't want the trouble, and off the record, they would really prefer if we closed, or relocate at the least. They would like to renovate this entire block, re-zone it and make it into high-end housing, as if we didn't have enough of that."

"No way," Zatanna felt her fists clenching. "They can't tear down the Alighieri. This was where my father played his last show." She didn't add, _this was where he died._

Winters waved a hand in dismissal. "The Alighieri is not going to be 'torn' down. We will provide anything you may require. Thank you Joe, you've been very helpful as usual. You may go now."

Joe was used to the curt dismissals, and quickly gathered up his binder and laptop. He mouthed a silent "good luck" to Zatanna as he hurriedly exited and shut the door.

Now only the magicians were left in the room. As soon as Joe left, they were no longer the Board for the Alighieri. They were something else - the nucleus of a group that her father had formed many years ago, for one reason only.

"What are we going to do?" Zatanna was still distressed, thinking that the club might be seriously decline, and that her friend might move away.

"Never mind that right now," Winters said, looking meaningfully at Zatanna. "We have more important matters to discuss."

"What? What else do we have to talk about?"

"You know very well what it is."

Zatanna heard that critical tone in his voice, and became defensive. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Xanadu interrupted her colleague, said in a more gentle tone. "It's about your work with the Justice League, Zatanna."

 _I knew it,_ Zatanna thought. "Yeah? What about it?"

"Don't play coy, Zatanna," Winters rumbled. "We want to know how deep your involvement is."

Zatanna could see that Xanadu was also looking for an answer, while Fuselli - not really a part of the group but who had imposed himself on it - watched attentively, like a gossip-hound.

She shrugged, pretended an indifference. "I'm not really a member. I've offered to become like a consultant, in case they have situations involving anything magickal."

"And...have they?" Xanadu asked.

"A few incidents. Nothing serious."

"You're lying, Zatanna," Winters said bluntly. "Do you think we're fools? You were involved during the night of the black stars. Was that not 'serious?'"

"So? I helped them with my abilities," Zatanna glared at Winters. "What's wrong with that?"

"There is nothing 'wrong' with it," Xanadu said. "But you must know you're putting yourself in terrible danger."

"So do they, all the time," Zatanna replied, a bit more sharply than she intended. "I still don't see what the problem is, or why you're making a big deal of it."

"Don't be stupid," Winters said sharply. "You don't know what you're getting into!"

Zatanna glared at him. "Again, why is it any of your business?"

"You know very well!"

Winters stood up, paced away irritably from his chair, a sure sign he was getting aggravated. "We swore a vow, Madame Xanadu and I. To your late father. I am beginning to think we may have failed in this vow, as hard as that is to admit."

"Now, Baron, perhaps that is too strong," Xanadu said.

"Well, don't feel like you've disappointed yourself on my account," Zatanna huffed. "I'm doing just fine."

Winters turned his ice-cold blue eyes on her. "If you mean by disgracing yourself and the name of Zatara, dragging it through the mud even more than it was before, if you think that is fine, then perhaps you are correct. Those 'magic shows' and the way you dress..."

 _That_ got her hackles up. "Just how am I 'disgracing' myself? I make an honest living as a performer. What is wrong with that? You are always going on about how the _homo magii_ are supposed to be doing good, leaving its mark on the world, all that bullshit...well, I am, but I guess that's not good enough for you!"

Xanadu sighed, listening to the two of them argue back and forth. This was nothing new, the two of them arguing, over the same thing. It was a lot like father-daughter, and she and Baron Winters had taken responsibility for Zatanna after her father's death, but that relationship had always been rocky, because of Zatanna's age. She had only been a teenager when her father died.

"Yes, I've said it before," Winters was saying. "The _homo magii,_ once we were great upon the earth, but look at us now: we've declined because of foolish and stupid vendettas, rivalries among magicians for the trappings of power, ownerships of useless grimoires. We, who should have been guiding and leading humanity, reduced to cheap showmanship and parlor tricks."

"Is that supposed to be my fault?" Zatanna was getting annoyed now. "You know what I think? I think you're jealous of the Justice League. Superman, Batman and the others, they're doing the things you think we ' _homo magii'_ are supposed to do. It makes you crazy, doesn't it? That I'm part of them now."

"So you _are_ part of the Justice League!" Fuselli sounded delighted. "Splendid! I'd love to meet them someday. I've seen their dreams, some of them..."

"What?" Zatanna turned her anger on the imp. "You're not supposed to do that anymore!"

"Oh, stop clutching your pearls, I've only taken a peek," Fuselli replied. "I'm just so curious. What does an alien's dream look like? Take Superman. You'd think, as the most powerful man on the planet, he would have some interesting dreams. But no, what a disappointment. Just a bunch of cows, mostly." Fuselli shook his head in mock sadness.

"But now this Batman, that's a really sad story. I first looked in on him, awhile back. Very tragic of course. He's the most interesting of them, in my humble opinion."

"What?" Zatanna stared at the imp incredulously. "You interfered in Batman's dreams? Damn it, I warned you about all this!"

Fuselli went on as if he hadn't heard her. "That's what they really want to talk about, you know. I wondered when they would get around to it."

"This Batman," Baron Winter interrupted brusquely. "I know who he is and what he does."

Zatanna stared at all of them; was this what this all was about? "What about Batman?"

"Bruce Wayne, isn't that right?" Madame Xanadu said. "We know that as well as you do."

"He is its leader, he allowed you to be part of this so-called Justice League," Winters said. "Do you know him well?"

Zatanna made a deliberate shrug. "I fucked him once. I don't know if that means I know him well."

Winters looked too infuriated to speak, Madame Xanadu shook her head in exasperation while Fuselli hooted. "My my young lady, and you use the backwards speech with that mouth?"

"All the time," Zatanna pressed her hands against the table, doing her best to conceal the alarm she felt. "Why are you asking about him?"

Baron Winters somehow managed his temper to explain. "I maintain a network of connections among antiquarian and independent sellers of rare books. They drop me notes if they notice something out of the ordinary, someone making purchases of certain books. I received such a note several months ago. A certain English gentleman traveling to various sellers in America, very discreet, making purchases on behalf of another party, whom he would not disclose, who was willing to pay vast sums of money."

Winters produced a photograph from within his coat, tossed it across the table to Zatanna. "Do you recognize him?"

She slowly picked it up and looked at it. It was clearly taken without the subject's awareness, perhaps from a surveillance camera. "Yes," she replied slowly. "His name is Alfred Pennyworth. He's Bruce Wayne's butler. He's harmless."

Winters gritted his teeth. "No one is harmless who would traffic with the works of the Outer Darkness!"

"He's harmless I said! Leave him alone!"

"Did you know the man had procured a copy of _De Vermis Mysteriis_? Do you call that harmless?"

"He hasn't read it," Zatanna muttered. "He's not using it. He's just keeping it secure."

"What is this? You knew that Wayne was collecting books on the occult?" Xanadu sounded astonished.

Zatanna shifted uneasily in her chair. "He collects a lot of things. He has a right to know what he's fighting against."

"You know very well this is different, Zatanna!" Winter snapped. "The Outer Darkness is not something that one should look to confront."

"Bruce isn't trying to confront it. He didn't ask for this, none of us did! But someone, something is bringing it to us, and we have to fight."

"You know very well this is not something you can defeat by fisticuffs," the old man objected. "You talk as if you were one of them."

"I...I am one of them," Zatanna said. "I work with them, they're my friends."

"You are most certainly not one of them," Winters snarled. "You are _homo magii_! You have no business telling these people about magick."

"Do you think I just give away all my secrets? Do you think I'm that big a fool?"

"No, just fool enough to whore around with that madman who calls himself a Bat." Winters glared at her. "You are a disgrace to the _homo magii_ and to the memory of your father! I truly hope you think about that and what you are doing."

With that Baron Winters made an elaborate gesture and vanished in a flare of purplish-blue light, leaving the three of them alone. Zatanna turned angrily away from the others, crossing her arms and scowling furiously. Fuselli laughed silently to himself while Xanadu sighed.

"You mustn't take what he says to heart, my child. He is upset, because he sees what is happening and is powerless to do anything."

"Then maybe he should join the Justice League!" Zatanna heard the petulance in her voice but couldn't help it. Baron Winters always made her feel like a misbehaving child. "It's not like he's helpless, he could do something. He's just...just..."

"He's a very proud man, but do not doubt, he hasn't forgotten his vow to your father. Neither have I."

"So you both think I need protection?"

"We could all use some protection, I think," Fuselli piped up before Xanadu could reply. "I didn't get to finish my Batman story. As I said, I looked in on his dreams - yes, yes, it's all wrong and bad - but believe me I wish I hadn't. Such a tragic scene, night after night! You'd think he'd eventually get over it...and maybe he did."

Zatanna stared at the imp's troubled face. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't see that scene anymore, the one in which he dreams of his parents' murder. I don't see it because I can't see his dreams."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"It is, since that _is_ my business. A month ago, I tried to re-enter his dreams - just to see if anything changed - and it had. I can't enter."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I cannot enter. There is some kind of veil, a fog that occurs. I cannot pass through it, and I...I am not sure I want to. He is not creating it himself, of that I am sure. His dreams, if dreams he has, lie beyond that. It is acting as a barrier, and I don't think it is something I want to risk to cross. I do not know what is causing it."

Fuselli looked at Zatanna and shrugged. "I am not as brave as you, of course, Justice Leaguer and all."

"But that is certainly disturbing news," Madame Xanadu said carefully. "First, that Bruce is collecting these forbidden books, and now his very mind is blocked to such a creature as Fuselli."

"I told you, he's not trying to do anything."

Fuselli eyed her sharply. "Are you certain of that?"

Zatanna just glared at him. She didn't want to think he might have something there.

"Never mind him. I must tell you of something else."

Madame Xanadu brought out her tarot cards, unwrapped them from a silken cloth and shuffled them carefully and precisely. Her deck was unique only to her, of a design that suggested ancient Celtic elements.

"Even though I don't prefer to do this, I have tried to read the future in this situation. Often the same four cards turn up."

She dealt three cards from her deck face-down. Slowly, she turned them over, one by one.

The Tower. The Lovers. The Magician.

Zatanna was not a skilled tarot reader as Madame Xanadu; she could hear Bruce's voice in her head, scoffing at the whole notion.

"Well, that's not a bad draw," Fuselli remarked. "Providing that they're the proper side up, that is."

Xanadu shook her head impatiently. "No, it is not about their relationship, Wayne and Zatanna's, that I am concerned about. I said there was a fourth card."

She seemed to hold her breath before drawing the top card, hesitantly. Even more hesitantly, she turned it over.

This card was solid black, except for the white lettering like all the other cards had. This one read:

THE VOID.

Zatanna and Fuselli stared at it. It truly did look like a void. Zatanna had recently read something in the news about a new shade of black that scientists had developed called Vantablack, the most absolute shade of black that light seemed to vanish when striking it, that no contour lines or shapes could ever be formed within it. This particular tarot card seemed to look like it was made of Vantablack. It even seemed to suck the light out of the room, it even looked dimmer here...

"Strange," Fuselli mused. "I've never heard of a tarot card labeled 'The Void' before."

"I don't understand. Why are you doing tarot readings on me? I don't even understand how they can work like that when I'm not here."

Hurriedly, Xanadu swept up the card back into her deck, and the strange light-dimming sensation they had felt was gone.

"No," she said. "Neither have I. But it appears now, in my deck. Ever since the night of the black stars, it has when I lay out all my cards, it is not there. But when I try to do a reading, such as...the one I just did now, then it appears. I am certain the two events are connected."

The elder wise woman stared imploringly at Zatanna. "My child, I beg you to be careful in your work with the Justice League. First that terrible night, and now, what you and Batman did in Australia, yes I know about it...and I fear it is not the end. I know you do not want me to be involved in your personal life, but for your own sake, do not get involved any more than you are with this Batman. The cards' reading are for _him_. He is on a path that will only lead to great pain and suffering."

Zatanna shook her head stubbornly. Madame Xanadu recognized it as a trait of her father's.

"No. I vowed to work with the Justice League. I made a vow of my own to my father: he spent his entire life atoning for the crimes someone else committed, and he suffered for it. I'm not going to do that. I know he didn't want that for me. If 'pain and suffering' are foretold, as you say they are, I'm going to do my damnedest to stop it before it happens!"

"Zatanna..."

"I love you, but respect my decision, Madame Xanadu," Zatanna rose from her chair. "I'm not abandoning Batman or any of the others, and don't try to prevent me. _Yawa_."

With a flash of purple light, she vanished from the Alighieri's private room.

"Well, I would say that went wonderfully well," Fuselli proclaimed. "What now?"

"If this is the path she has decided in, there is nothing we can do. It may be her fate."

"I know you don't believe that, and Baron Winters won't either."

The ancient sorceress thought for a moment. Finally said said.

"Stay close to her as you can without getting in her way. Keep an eye on this Batman too. I suspect there are things she has not revealed to us."

"Oh, of course there isn't. But I wonder what you are thinking. She's said repeatedly she doesn't want my help in anything."

"I am thinking, imp, that it is protection she will need."

"Surely not from this Batman? He may be big and tough, but he's just an ordinary human, when all's said or done."

Fuselli stared at Xanadu when she didn't reply.

"Could it really be possible?"

"Anything is possible," Xanadu replied slowly. "Where the Outer Darkness is concerned...and I feel it is drawing close."

* * *

 **[A/N: Thank you for reading the first chapter of my new story! It will be BM/ZZ primarily, but we will see SM/WW also a lot, and an upcoming chapter will be very much WW and baby Jon-centric. This is a setup introducing some of the DC characters involved w/Zatanna, although altered to fit this AU storyline. I hope you will enjoy the suspense as it builds. If you want to know the backstory, please read my prior JL stories, and I'll try to do a little synopsis of each story on my profile page. Please review and let me know what you would like to see happen!]**


	2. Chapter 2 - The Portraiture

**Chapter 2 – The Portrait**

Behind the door

The poison door

We search the still hours

Looking

For a place to hide (For a place to hide)

Behind the door

Where dreams collide (Where dreams collide)

Behind the door

The poison door

We sit in silence waiting

For a deadly friend

Behind the door

Where dreams descend (Where dreams descend)

And the shadows smile

"Poison Door" The Sisters of Mercy (1984)

* * *

Bruce Wayne walked down the hallway of portraits.

He knew he was in the ancestral house of his family, Wayne Manor (for where else would he see these immense oil portraits of the patriarchs of his family)? They lined the walls of this rather long and dimly lit hallway. Bruce easily recognized some of the faces: Thomas Wayne, his own father, cut down in the prime of his life by a thief's pistol; William Wayne, his grandfather, a shrewd and ruthless business tycoon, one hand of his resting on a book of ledgers while in the background a smoky industrial landscape signified the source of his wealth.

Other portraits were less familiar to him: Wilbur Wayne, a robber baron at the turn of the 20th-century, white-whiskered and fat; Wallace Wayne, a slender and dashing young man dressed in Civil War uniform, although family legend hinted that he had paid generous sums to stay out of the actual fighting; George Walker Wayne, who had first began building the mansion that would become Wayne Manor. It was he who first discovered the caverns while sheltering fugitive slaves on the Underground Railroad.

As Bruce continued down the hallway, the faces became less familiar, and he was certain he'd never seen some of them before. Surely these people had never actually posed for a portrait: Manfred Wayne, clad in periwig and frock coat, who despite his foppish appearance had fought the British for independence from the Crown; Walther Wayne, a man of grim-visage clad all in forbidding black as background of his portrait showed lurid roasting fires. He was clutching a massive Bible in his hands. The men before him were heavily bearded and dressed in ragged furs: the first Waynes in the New World had been hunters and trappers, exploring – and often dying – in the uncharted wilderness.

Bruce paused to look at the very last portrait: it depicted a man in medieval plate armor, a bare sword gripped in his gauntleted hands as if in prayer. His helmet was molded in the shape of a fearsome predator. His eyes gleamed fearsome and hard from beneath his lifted visor. Violent and bloody battle scenes dominated his background. The nameplate read: "Wolfram de Wainwryght."

Beneath, an inscription had been added: " _God grant him and his heirs peace in the lands beyond death."_

Bruce stared at it for a long moment. He wondered that he had never seen this particular portrait before. Alfred must have taken it out of storage.

Yet strange to say, he also could not remember ever being in this particular hallway either. But Wayne Manor was a big place. There were many places he rarely visited, or avoided altogether. Here, the hallway ended in a door.

He opened it.

Bruce stepped into a large room: a studio. The floor was hardwood, polished so intensely it gleamed. Paintings of a surrealist style lined the walls. Half the studio was brightly lit, the other half in darkness; Bruce stood in the lighted space. There was no furniture, just a stool set in the center of the light. Of the darkened half he could see nothing except just at its edge he thought he could see the outlines of an easel.

For a moment Bruce just stood there, confused. He didn't recognize this room either. He wasn't sure what he was doing here.

"Ah, you've finally arrived. Please take a seat."

The voice, out of the darkness, was deep and cultured and vaguely familiar. Bruce did not know to whom it belonged, but he did as it instructed; a vague understand that he was now sitting for his own portrait. He could hear and sense movement just beyond the easel, but he still could not see the person.

"Sit as upright as you can. Turn your left shoulder slightly towards me. Thank you."

Bruce obeyed. Odd, that at some point he'd decided to have his portrait painted. Although his father had had one commissioned, and also one of the whole family (it now hung in his bedroom) he didn't think he'd ever get one done of himself. It seemed too old-fashioned, and what was the point anyway, as it wasn't likely there would be more Waynes to leave it to for posterity…

He must have said some of that aloud, for the voice answered: "It's a venerable tradition, the portraiture. More intimate than a photograph, and so much more revealing of the individual and his context. Perhaps you noticed the backgrounds in the portraits of your ancestors? There are subtle hints, placed there by the artist: for example, your ancestor Walther Wayne. Such attention to detail…you can almost smell the flesh roasting, of those he had burned at the stake. Walther the Witchfinder, he was called, although it is debatable if any of those he brought to justice were really witches. More likely just poor women who'd offended him in some way."

The voice chuckled as if that were funny, a somehow unnerving sound. Bruce again thought he'd heard it before, somewhere, but he couldn't be sure. If he could only see who it was…

"And, of course, your progenitor, Wolfram. Such a sequence he set into motion, if only he knew, he might not have been so reckless with _those_ people whom he persecuted."

"What are you talking about?"

"Please keep as still as possible, and try not to speak, it disturbs the lines of your face. Tilt your head back, just slightly…there. I want to get the details just right."

Bruce wanted to ask _who are you_ , but the words wouldn't come out. Some part of him did not want to know.

"As I was saying, painting brings out so much more detail than a photograph ever could capture. A portrait also suggests weight and substance. Your ancestors understood that: your family is a _special_ family, and I am not speaking of wealth only. You should look more closely at theirs. You would learn much about your future, from looking at your past. But then…"

The voice dropped to a whisper. "…you already _do_ that, don't you?"

The voice fell silent, then. For several minutes there was no sound except the scraping of a paintbrush against canvas.

An uneasy feeling began to grow within Bruce. Maybe it was the studio, and the fact that he didn't know how he'd got here, and this mysterious painter, whoever he was, saying these things about him and his family. How the hell did he know about him?

"Just move your chin slight down…yess…that's it."

Yes, he _had_ heard the voice before. But where? Where?

"I-I know you, don't I?" Bruce whispered. It was a struggle to even talk. He almost felt as if something was constricting him. This couldn't be right. Something had happened to him.

Alarm swept through the Dark Knight, and he tried to adjust his position. "I…I can't move…" he managed to gasp.

"It is of no matter, I am almost finished. I believe I have your outline at least created."

The voice had changed, sounded thicker, guttural. Bruce tried to move his arms, his legs, but it was as if he was paralyzed. This had to be a trap, he'd walked into a trap, coming here. Who could have done this? The Penguin? The Joker! No, he was locked up in Arkham Asylum, and the voice was not the wild madman's. There was a terrible and deliberate purpose to it.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Bruce managed to gasp.

"Why?" The voice had definitely changed, lower and more sinister than it already was. "I owe you a debt of gratitude, _Bruce_...I must say it is because of you…I discovered my desire to paint, again."

"I…don't understand," Bruce's voice was barely audible. "Who are you?"

"It did take…some time," the voice was now guttural, and not quite sounding like a person anymore. "It...wasn't easy...I had to…learn how…to hold a paintbrush again."

Horror swept through Bruce now. There was not a _person_ in the darkness, there, no...he didn't want to see it move into the light.

He struggled mightily to move, anything, but he was paralyzed. Now, from the darkness came other sounds. Muffled sounds of tearing, breaking…he recognized those sounds and what they meant.

"You will pardon me, if I shall take a break for a meal…painting can be such _hungry_ work."

Bruce tried to cry out but now even his voice was gone. The words turned to gory chuckling as the easel was pulled away from the edge of the light, and something began flowing along the floor, moving from the darkened side to the light, steadily and relentlessly, something the color of red…then the voice laughed…and then _glibbered_.

 _Wayne…listen to me..._

No, no, he had to get out of here, before the tide of blood reached him, before the painter stepped into the light he opened his mouth, desperately tried to shout for help.

 _"Alfred!…ALFRED!"_

Bruce sat up, eyes wide and staring, then he realized that he had been screaming himself awake. His arms were up to defend himself, but he saw that he wasn't in some studio (the manor didn't even _have_ a studio he remembered). He was sitting in his own bed, in his master bedroom, alone. For a few more seconds he just sat where he was, letting his pounding heart slow to normal.

He buried his face in his hands, feeling shaky and foolish and annoyed. He hadn't had a nightmare like that – the kind in which he screamed himself awake – for quite some time. He'd allowed himself to hope that his bad dreams were gone for good, since he had not had any for over a year. Now that hope seemed premature. However, this wasn't the usual nightmare, the one in which he witnessed his parents' murder over and over again and him helpless, a child again.

 _Pickman_ , Bruce thought with some bewilderment _. I dreamed of_ _Richard Upton Pickman._ The human-turned-ghoul he had met in Alar. He knew the man, and what he had become: he had been a Boston painter who'd lived in the 1920s, and had disappeared without trace, leaving behind his grotesque and surreal paintings and an unsavory reputation. The mystery had never been solved but Bruce had discovered what had happened to him, what he had become: a monster. Yet, the creature had never threatened him. Perhaps because he had been under Randolph Carter's protection then. But now?

Although the dream (nightmare) had been so vivid, the fear it had engendered was dissipating, leaving him with only a disturbing feeling, just like his old nightmares had done. Maybe it was just nothing after all. Just something brought on the stress he'd been experiencing recently, like running the Justice League without Superman, since he was still depowered…and that he and the Kryptonian weren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment.

Bruce sighed and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. He was starting to feel calmer, more like himself. He could tell from a glance at the window that he still had an hour or so before dawn. He started to shout for his butler again, but then he remembered – Alfred wasn't here. He had gone back to his native England: a distant aunt or some such had passed away and he had taken time off to see to the final arrangements and funeral. He would not be back until the day after tomorrow.

Bruce suddenly remembered of an engagement he had this morning, and groaned aloud, the nightmare now completely vanishing from his mind to be replaced by another kind.

The Gotham City Ladies Auxiliary was due to arrive at the manor at 10AM. They were a collection of wealthy and elderly ladies – the youngest was 64 – who represented various important charities and civic foundations in the city, and who wielded considerable influence "behind the scenes" in Gotham's cultural and political spheres. This meant that they were often persistent nuisances and critics of any kind of change, and that most major endeavors would not get the green-light without their blessing. As a significant and long-standing member of Gotham society, Bruce Wayne was expected to host them twice a year at the Manor. Personally, he would have preferred to avoid them altogether, if it weren't for the fact that his late mother had been a member, and that Dr. Leslie, his old family physician (now retired) was currently the Auxiliaries President. One of the burdens of being a wealthy Gothamite.

Usually, Alfred would have dealt with all the arrangements and done the actual hosting of the event himself, with Bruce making a belated, and hopefully brief, appearance near the end to greet everyone and then bow out, but now he was absent. He would have to deal with everything himself.

He sighed. It hoped that the tedium of a Ladies Aux meeting might be enough to erase the disquiet he felt. If it did, the whole rigmarole would be worth it. He got up, and headed for his gym. Just a light workout then, and he would get ready for his day. The dream was already forgotten.

* * *

 _Several hours later…_

In the well-lit drawing room of Wayne Manor, decorated and furnished with antiques from 18th-century France and England, the eight gray-haired ladies who represented the Gotham City Ladies Auxiliary sat on chairs and couches, and sipped English tea and nibbled on cucumber sandwiches. The tea was perhaps not quite as flavorful as it could be, the sandwiches cut a little crookedly, but that was only to be expected since the esteemed Alfred was absent. Bruce Wayne, each one of them was aware, wasn't the type of person to appreciate the nuances of an English social tea. He sat amongst them, barely touching any of the refreshments. In truth, he seemed rather distracted, failing to engage them in conversation and Dr. Leslie often felt she had to draw him into their discussions.

"I do hope he is not unwell?" Dr. Leslie had said.

Bruce looked up from his plate. "Who?"

"Mr. Pennyworth," the retired physician repeatedly patiently, while the others tut-tutted. "I said, I do hope he is not unwell?"

"No, no Alfred is quite well. He flew back to England two days ago to attend his aunt's funeral."

"Really?" She sipped her tea from the porcelain cup. "I didn't know he had any family left."

"I do believe he spoke of an aunt, a venerable lady living in Dorchester."

"She was 102," Bruce murmured. "He hadn't seen her for perhaps twenty years, but he was her only living relative."

"Oh. Perhaps he will come into an inheritance?" One of the other ladies said. Bruce knew she had had her eye on his butler for some time, and felt a distinct thrill in dashing her hopes.

"No, she was living on a pensioners' income in a boarding house."

"But he's not gone back to England permanently?"

"No, he will be back this week."

"Oh, that's very reassuring," another lady, a stout woman name either Mildred or Mathilde (Bruce wasn't sure which) added: "I would so hate it if Alfred was permanently indisposed."

Another lady changed the topic, hoping to engage him in talk. "Mr. Wayne, what is your position on the mayor's proposal to clean up Crime Alley?"

He didn't appear to hear her; she was another gray-haired eminence-type who would have given the Dowager Countess on _Downton Abbey_ a run for her money. She stared at him in annoyance, thinking of Alfred's unfortunate absence. _He_ had always give the Aux his utmost attention during their teas. The scion of Wayne Manor, however, was quite lacking in manners. No wonder this brash young man had gotten the dissolute reputation he had!

"Mr. Wayne!"

"What?" He looked up again. "Oh...forgive me. I was just lost in thought."

"I do hope we aren't boring you," Mrs. Jackie Martell was the 80-year-old widow of Arvin Martell, who had owned many major hotels in Gotham City. "I presume you are quite preoccupied with your many business engagements? Perhaps you are troubled by the economy?"

"No, not at all," Bruce Wayne seemed to remember his manners then. "Yes...I am quite busy, lately...don't worry, Wayne Enterprises is and will continue to support all of your charitable endeavors, ladies."

"Hmph!" proclaimed yet another one of the most senior members of the Aux, an ancient horror Bruce thought must have once rubbed shoulders with the Pharaohs. "I do think it would be better for Gotham City if we simply bulldozed the city down and started over. Get rid of all the riffraff and repopulate with better stock...people such as yourself, Mr. Wayne."

"Now, now, you don't mean that, Adelle," Dr. Leslie tutted. "That's no kind of solution."

"I do indeed mean that. If only this Batman fellow would just get on with his job, I am sure our city would be restored to its splendid glory."

"Oh, I think Gotham isn't that bad..."

"It is!"

"I say, this Batman character, I myself believe it is simply a myth propounded by the ignorant masses, if you'll pardon my saying so, such a person could not possibly exist in real life."

"Oh, I don't know, he has helped reduce the crime somewhat..."

Bruce sat back and retreated into himself as his guests began arguing amongst themselves again. It was the same every year. Somehow, despite all their fractiousness, the Aux did manage to fundraise successfully for quite a number of charities. He hated to admit it, but sometimes he thought these old ladies had it more together than the Justice League. The League was growing, and having the typical growing pains every organization experienced, Bruce thought. But sometimes he thought it was getting to be too many 'cooks in the kitchen' a phrase he had once heard Alfred say. But with Superman and Green Lantern absent, they just weren't as strong as Bruce would have liked. They had set a bad example, Bruce mused, by leaving so abruptly, despite their reasons. He should have-

A bright blue light had suddenly appeared across the room, a tiny glow hovering in the middle of the air, slowly spinning.

"Whatever _is_ that?" Dr. Leslie was the first to notice it.

All of Bruce's highly-trained senses leapt to immediately asses the situation, as he - and the rest of the ladies - saw it. Slowly he stood up, his muscles beginning to tense in anticipation of danger. He didn't sense any heat or other energy from the light, which was growing in size. He didn't want to scare his guests yet he was painfully aware he didn't have access to his Batsuit, and Alfred wasn't here.

"Is there some electrical problem?" Another lady asked worriedly; Bruce was painfully aware she was prone to heart problems.

"No," Bruce replied as soothingly as possible. "I'm not sure, but I think I'll call for the fire department to be sure." He then abruptly recalled he'd left his smartphone in his bedroom.

"Whatever it is, it's getting bigger! Are you sure it's not a fire?" The other ladies looked at each other nervously.

"Perhaps we should, ah, evacuate?"

Unfortunately, the light was between them and the door. Now it was almost the size of a person and glowing more brightly, swirling like a whirlpool.

"Get behind me, Doctor Leslie," Bruce warned. She, of all of them, was the most likely to keep her head if this was truly a danger.

Despite not having access to his Batsuit, he still had his strength and his wits. Whatever the hell this was, he had to protect his guests. If this was some kind of an attack, or a diversion, he was certain he would find out soon enough.

He didn't have long to wait. The light suddenly swelled like a balloon; the others raised their hands to their eyes in alarm. Then, like a balloon, it popped, and it was gone with a swirl of bluish smoke. A person stood in its place, dressed in top-hat, fishnets, and corset. She smiled widely and threw up her arms in a theatrical gesture.

 _"Prepare to be astounded!"_

The assembled ladies gasped and then applauded loudly. Thanks to social media, the Internet, and their grandkids, even the Gotham City Ladies' Auxiliary recognized Zatanna Zatara, the Mistress of Magic, who'd recently starred in her own special on cable TV!

"Hello, ladies," Zatanna doffed her top hat and bowed with a flourish. "I am the entertainment for today's brunch!"

"My, my, Bruce!" Dr. Leslie proclaimed in delight. "I had no idea you had prepared such a surprise for us!"

"No...I had no idea either," Bruce murmured, staring meaningfully at Zatanna. She pretended not to see it.

"Well, my entrance was meant to be a surprise! I hope it was effective?"

The ladies all agreed that it was, even Miss Maybelle, who was 80% blind and deaf. "My dear, you must perform some of your tricks for us!"

"Of course! If...my host has no objections?"

"No, of course he doesn't," Dr. Leslie took Zatanna proprietarily by the arm, leading her to the center of the room as the ladies retook their seats on the chairs and couches. "We would so like to see your skills!"

Zatanna obliged, and for the next half hour she performed: just easy, basic magic, nothing particularly complicated as her repertoire went. But she utilized her audience skills that her father had taught her early on, involving one or two of the ladies and constantly engaging them with witty banter. They repaid her with smiles, laughter and applause: it was like oxygen to her, she never got tired of it.

The entire time, Zatanna tried to avoid looking in Bruce's direction; it wasn't hard, since he was standing just outside the ladies' circle. But she caught a glimpse of his face: she thought he looked like Michael Douglas in that scene from _Fatal Attraction_ when Glenn Close's crazy stalker character invited herself to his home.

Then, the show was over. Zatanna gave another bow as her audience applauded.

"Such a wonderful performance!" Dr. Leslie said. "Bruce, dear boy, didn't you think that was just _splendid_?"

"Um, yes, it was...very nice."

Dr. Leslie shook her head. She had known Bruce all his life - had delivered him, in fact - and recognized his tone.

"Bruce, you could at _least_ give our dear artist here a smile!" Dr. Leslie turned to Zatanna. "You must forgive him, my dear. It's just how he is. You see, he was always a child prodigy, but also _such_ a very difficult child, even before the terrible tragedy that took his parents."

Bruce glared at the retired doctor, and Zatanna could see the Bat start to come out in his face.

"I was _never_ difficult," he retorted. "You just-"

"I have one last surprise!" Zatanna interrupted gaily. She made a flourish with her hands and eight tickets appeared, spread out like fan. "Tickets to my new show, premiering in Gotham City next month! Takers anyone?"

The ladies chirruped in delight, and she had no trouble giving them all away.

"It's been a wonderful event, we must do this again!" Adele gushed as she gathered up her purse to go. Whether she was talking to him or Zatanna, Bruce wasn't sure.

Zatanna stood back and let Bruce escort the ladies out the door of the Manor (where their chauffeured drivers had been waiting). She noticed he was all gracious smiles as he bid them goodbye: "Yes, thank you for coming...yes, it was, wasn't it...yes, I'll see you at the charity ball next month..."

Finally, when the last of the ladies were gone, and he saw them driven away, he shut the door, and turned to face Zatanna. The gracious smile was, of course, gone, replaced by something quite the opposite.

"Zatanna," Bruce rumbled ominously. "I trust you have an explanation for all this?".

"Umm…drumming up some publicity?" Zatanna said innocently. "I am playing in Gotham City soon..."

"So you thought to just break into my Manor, uninvited?"

"Bruce, you haven't returned any of my calls or texts. I hardly ever see you on the Watchtower when I'm there, and when I do you hardly even look at me."

Zatanna's eyes narrowed. "What, you thought you could just _screw_ me and _forget_ me? Bruce, I'm not going to be _ignored_."

Silence.

"Umm, _Fatal Attraction_? Glenn Close?" Zatanna laughed nervously. "That scene where..."

"Yes, I'm aware of the scene," Bruce said mildly. "I think you should at least have had the courtesy to let me know you were going to pull off that stunt."

Zatanna sighed. "I apologize. You're right, I shouldn't have barged in like I did. I'll leave now. I'm sorry. I'll get out of your way now."

She raised her arms to invoke her backwards speech but Bruce surprised her.

"Zee…wait."

His voice had changed, and she saw he actually looked contrite. She wished she had thought to bring her smartphone to capture that look.

"It's I who should apologize...I should have called you, but...things happened here that I had to take care of, and there was a breakout at Arkham Asylum...anyway, I know that's no excuse. But then, I thought...you might be mad at me, for not calling or texting you."

Bruce sounded remarkably, oddly, very young then. Zatanna was almost too surprised for words.

"No, I'm not, I mean, I wasn't mad. I was, um, worried myself, that you might think I was, um, a little too forward that night...I bet you were wondering what the hell happened..."

It was a bit true, Bruce thought. After he had gone home from the Dante Club, he'd fallen into such a deep sleep that Alfred had had to wake him late the next morning. He had felt a bit strange, but in a good way, it had felt almost...therapeutic. He had been worried too, but since Zatanna hadn't cursed him with, he didn't know what, maybe a 'shrinkage' spell, if such a thing existed, maybe then...but she hadn't called him either. He had seen her on the Watchtower, the one or two times they had shared the same watch together, but it was always very brief, and he'd avoided looking directly at her. She seemed to have done the same. The truth was he'd been simply too embarrassed to talk to her again. He realized she was looking at him expectantly.

"I thought you might be angry at me," Bruce finally said, lamely.

"Oh...well...no I'm not mad," Zatanna said, feeling a bit awkward herself. "I guess I just didn't know if you wanted to keep it...maybe just a one-time thing?"

Zatanna could almost hear Madame Xanadu's voice in her head, telling her that that was exactly what it should be. She banished it.

That bashful look came over Bruce's face again. She found it oddly endearing, it was so not like the old fart. "No...I don't think it has to be."

He took her hand.

* * *

 _Ten Minutes Later..._

It was a good thing, Zatanna thought, as she lay face-down on the divan, that Alfred was out of town. Otherwise, if he could see what she and Bruce were doing on this extremely rare and valuable 18th century piece of furniture, he might have a fit.

It was certainly the most intimate encounter she'd ever had with such a piece of furniture. She clutched the edges of the 300-year-old fabric, hoping it wouldn't tear under her grip. That was the only thing keeping her from flying off it, as Bruce pounded away behind her with all the pent-up lust of two months (assuming he hadn't been seeing anyone else). Judging by his stamina, she guessed he hadn't. It was just like before, his powerful hands pressing down on her back and arms, his furnace breath on the back of her neck. This time, she'd barely had time to say a word before he'd pressed his lips hard against hers, his hands already pulling at her fishnets. She discovered herself just as ready, so when he'd entered her his size didn't hurt as much, but filled her so completely she almost came there and then. She realized how much she'd missed him.

After a few minutes, she felt his pace increase and she moaned, gripping the divan tighter, gritting her teeth. She wondered if the aphrodisiac could still be in his system, although it shouldn't have lasted that long, if it had he would have approached her much sooner, she'd thought. Then all further thoughts were temporarily expelled from her mind, as her own release neared.

Bruce gave a final thrust, up to the base of his cock and Zatanna cried out with him. In the next moment he collapsed against her back, and she felt almost crushed by his weight, but a second later, he was gone. She almost gasped at the emptiness he left.

She turned her head to see him already pulling up his pants, and buttoning his shirt. That abashed look had returned to his face.

"We shouldn't have done this," he muttered.

"What?" Zatanna was confused as she rolled to a sitting position. She winced slightly; she still hadn't gotten completely used to his size. "Why? I thought we wanted to do this, together..."

"That's not what I meant," he glanced at her sideways again, his abashed look replaced by suspicion, a more familiar look for him. "I think you've done something to me."

 _Does he know?_ "Now would could I have done?" She asked innocently

"I don't know," Bruce mused, sounding as if he were trying to solve a crime. "I don't know all your capabilities."

He didn't know. She crossed her arms. "Yes, Bruce, I do have a special power, unique only to people like me."

"What?" Bruce stared at her. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, it starts with a 'V.' I'll give you a clue, Great Detective, it rhymes with 'angina.'"

Bruce picked up a cushion (also a 300-year-old piece) and threw it at her. "I'm serious. I've done this wrong."

Zatanna frowned. "You think...you and I are wrong?"

"No...on the contrary," he reached out and grasped her hand. "I think that maybe we've gotten it backwards. I've got an idea. Come to dinner with me?"

For a second Zatanna wondered if Bruce Wayne had been replaced by a doppleganger, or something. An invitation to dinner?

"You mean, a date?"

He smiled, and all suspicions evaporated from her mind. "I can get ready in a second."

* * *

 _Later that day..._

Whenever Zatanna was on the road performing, she and her crew would typically eat out at whatever was available in whatever city or town they performed. Usually it was some franchise place like a Dennys or an IHOP, whatever was open 24 hours. She considered herself "down-to-earth" and wasn't that picky.

The restaurant that Bruce took her to was some place in Gotham City she'd never heard of, but it was clearly very fancy. Bruce said it was the "only Michelin-star restaurant in Gotham City' whatever that meant. After some thought she conjured up an outfit that she thought appropriate, a long dress that that revealed her legs (but covered up her tats). Bruce had driven Zatanna in his Lamborghini Reventon (of course he had one), and she had tried to inhale as much of that fancy car smell on the way there. Living in San Fran, she didn't even own a car.

As they entered the place, Zatanna saw that the hostess and waiters all appeared to recognize Bruce as a regular customer, with his own 'table.' No surprise, really. They passed a few other diners, some of whom nodded in greeting to Bruce as he passed, no doubt persons just as well-heeled as he was. She noted that some of them glanced at her curiously, maybe wondering who she was...and what she was doing with him. That gave her a little thrill.

"Are you vegetarian? They have some excellent vegetarian dishes here. Try the Mushroom Goat Cheese Lasagna," Bruce suggested as the menus were presented.

"Oh, I eat meat...sometimes," Zatanna said. "But I think I'll try that, since you suggested it!"

"It's very good..." Bruce went on for a few minutes about the food and wine selection, then after the waiter took their orders he lapsed into a sudden silence. Zatanna wondered if he was going to start brooding again. That would be awkward...here anyway.

"It occurs to me I don't know that much about you Zee...still," Bruce finally said. "You're still very mysterious to me. I really do want to know everything about you."

"I think 'mysterious' is rather sexy," Zatanna teased. "But a magician doesn't give away all her secrets."

"Is that so," Bruce murmured. "I guess we all keep secrets, in our own way."

"Well," she said thoughtfully. "I hope we can be honest with each other, at least."

Bruce then fixed her with a penetrating gaze, and she was reminded uncomfortably of the stunt she had pulled with the aphrodisiac. Maybe she should tell him, but that would be a good way to end the date right here. Yet...

"The waiters here are all gossips," he continued. "As soon as we walked in together, I guarantee you that TMZ will be reporting on the 'Mistress of Magic's' latest conquest their next show."

She raised her eyebrows. "I hope so! Does that bother you?"

"No, I do have a reputation to maintain," he replied carelessly. "But..." he lowered his voice. "The League. That's another story"

"Oh, that," she rolled her eyes. "Why should it be. Do you really care what they say?"

He didn't respond immediately, and Zatanna took that for a yes. "Let them say what they want. I don't care what they think about us. We all have the same goal."

 _I wonder,_ Bruce thought.

* * *

 **[A/N: Well let's leave our latest power couple alone for the moment to enjoy their dinner, because they'll get enough flak about their relationship from the press and their friends...and others not so friendly. I did want to leave the impression that they don't entirely trust each other yet. But before we return to them, I haven't forgotten all you Superman/Wonder Woman shippers...next chapter will feature the return of Diana and Baby Jon, and we'll learn what's been going on with our favorite couple for the past two months. Hope you've enjoyed this and are still in suspense. Reviews please!]**


	3. Chapter 3 - The Camp

**Chapter 3 – The Camp**

 _Somewhere in America_

"Jon! Come inside!"

The nearly-two-year-old boy looked up from his toys. He hesitated, reluctant to come in from his play although he well knew Ma did not like her instructions disobeyed. He was occupied in the building of a big and wonderful city, which in his mind was called Metropolis. He had never been there, but he had heard his Pa talk of Metropolis many times with longing in his voice. In his child's mind, he hoped that if he built a 'Metropolis,' maybe Pa would come home.

Diana only saw that her son had managed to make a muddy mess in the backyard of their small cottage-style house; he'd dug holes and made heaps of dirt for his Tonka trucks, which were his favorite toys of the moment. Jon was caked in dirt from head to toe.

The Amazon shook her head in dismay: how was it possible for one child to cause so much mess? Then, of course, he was no ordinary child: Jon-El was the seed of both Krypton and Themyscira, two great and ancient cultures, both now lost to time.

For now, though, he was just a dirty little boy in dire need of a bath.

"Jon, it's time to come in! You need to get cleaned up before we leave."

Jon cheered up considerably hearing that. That was right, he remembered, he and Ma were going on a trip! They were finally going to see Pa!

"Yes, Mama!"

Jon jumped up, making sure he had his favorite toy truck with him, and toddled after his mother into their small home. It was a comfortable place, cozy; it had come already furnished, which was why it looked nothing like his Ma's taste. But there had been something about it Pa didn't like, which Jon didn't understand. He had overheard him and Ma arguing about it, before he left.

" _Clark, for Hera's sake, it's only temporary. We can't live in the Fortress all the time, you know that."_

" _Well we also can't always go running to Bruce to take care of our problems."_

" _No one 'ran' to Bruce, he made the offer, remember? Really, it's the safest place other than the Fortress-"_

" _I don't need to be 'safe.'"_

" _What_ do _you need then?"_

" _You know damn well."_

" _Clark, it's not…you have to remember it's going to take time. You're not getting worse at least…"_

" _I'm not getting better either, not fast enough. I can't just sit here watching TV, listening to everyone saying 'Superman is dead, and where is he' when I could be doing something to prove...'"_

" _You're_ not _just sitting around, or have you forgotten that you're a father?"_

" _You know I haven't! It's_ because _I'm a father I have to do this."_

" _Do what? What are you talking about?"_

There were other things they'd argued about (he heard them, although they tried to hide it) which Jon didn't understand, but whatever those things were, the result was the same: Pa was gone. He'd been gone for about a month or so, but it seemed like forever to Jon. He'd thought maybe it was something he'd done or didn't do and it made him unhappy.

Before he'd left, Pa had tried to console him. He'd sat next to him on his little bed in the house (he had his own bedroom now). Jon buried his face in his tear-soaked pillow, clutching Krypto, his plushie white dog, tightly. He felt one of Pa's big hands gently rub his back.

"I'm going to be away for a little while," Pa said gently. "You need to be strong, and behave, for your Ma. Can you do that, Jon?"

"Don't go, Pa," Jon had wept. "Please don't go."

Jon had remembered Pa had looked very sad, but his face was already in that stubborn look he'd come to recognize. His Ma also could look alot like that too.

"I have to, little man," Pa tried to explain. "So we can get our own home, someday. I won't be gone forever."

"We have a home," Jon insisted. He didn't understand what Pa meant. They didn't live outside – weren't they together already?

"I explained it to your Ma: this _isn't_ our home, it belongs to someone else. Even your clothes, they're…"

Then Pa looked more angry than stubborn. "I have to go back to work, Jon. I know you don't understand…but I need you to be good for your Ma. Will you help me? Help take care of her for me?"

Jon's tears stopped at the thought of helping his Pa. If he helped him, and did a good job, maybe Pa would come home quicker. "Ok." He'd agreed.

Pa smiled then. "That's my good boy, Jon. I'll be back before you know it."

Then he was gone. Ma had in turns been angry, sad, or moody without Pa around, but she pretended everything was normal. Sometimes Ma took him flying, and Jon had been excited thinking they were going to see Pa but it was only to stay at the Fortress when Ma was at her own 'work.' The metal bugs Kelex and Kebex babysat him, or sometimes he talked with Grandpa, but Grandpa couldn't tell him where Pa was either. Sometimes they went to a place called 'Hall of Justice' and another place called 'Watchtower' where his many 'uncles' and 'aunties' spoiled him (that was how Ma described it) but although he liked visiting and being fussed over, it wasn't the same as being with Pa.

But now, at last, they were finally going to see him! Ma had told him that they were going to see Pa where he worked, someplace she called a 'man-camp.' He wasn't sure if Pa was finally coming home, or if they were going to live with him at this man-camp but he was happy all the same.

Diana pulled Jon out of his dirty clothes. "Look at what you've done!" She chastised him affectionately. "Now, I'll have to give you a bath before we go see Daddy."

Jon squealed with excitement, wriggling about so much that Diana had to chastise him again, more sternly this time, to get him to settle down.

"We going see Pa?" Jon had to be sure.

"Yes, we're going to see Papa," Diana affirmed quietly. For the next several minutes Jon chanted happily as she washed him, now ready to behave now that he knew he would get to see his dad.

Diana sighed inwardly; she was looking forward to her reunion with her husband, but at the same time she couldn't help fretting that they would just spend the time arguing, just like they did before he left. She couldn't stop worrying about whether he was all right, despite her anger at him. Zeus take him, but she couldn't stay angry at him.

No, she thought: she should have known Clark wouldn't be content to wait at the Fortress or the Watchtower for his powers to return, but it was more than that.

For the first several weeks he had tolerated the tests and examinations J'onn and Bruce conducted. When it became evident that his 'recovery' would take some time he stopped them altogether, much to Bruce's irritation.

" _These tests are a waste of time! I could be doing something else…"_

" _What can you do, Clark? Think about it!"_ _Bruce had argued, in that imperious, not-so-helpful way of his. "Yes, you're in good health. Hell, you're in better shape than most people. But you can be killed easily. A single bullet could kill you, even a car accident-"_

" _You too," Clark had replied tersely. "It doesn't keep you from sitting around your mansion. Anyway, I've made up my mind. I'm going back to work."_

Diana assumed Clark would quietly write his articles for Lois' media company. Or, he would just make regular appearances in his suit to reassure people that Superman wasn't dead (he'd already done so, but still some people weren't convinced and 'conspiracy theories' dominated the Internet). But Lois had pitched some ideas to Clark that he'd accepted eagerly, ideas that dismayed both Diana and Bruce.

" _You're doing what?" Bruce had snapped._

" _I said, I'm going back to work. I've gotten a job at the new Bakken Camp in North Dakota, where they're experimenting with new energy sources. I'm going to be doing a series of articles on the lives of the workers there and the work they're doing. Lois thinks that there's something sketchy about what's going on."_

" _Yes, I know all about it – my company has a contract to supply some of the equipment. There is nothing 'sketchy' going on, Lois is imagining things as usual. Clark, listen, I could provide you a better job, something at corporate headquarters…"_

" _Something in an office cubicle? Thanks but no thanks."_

" _Do I need to remind you that Bakken is very dangerous work, Clark? Accidents happen there all the time, not to mention the type of people who work there. You could be injured easily, and in your condition…"_

 _That had been the wrong thing to say. Clark had grown increasingly prickly over his 'condition.'_

" _I'll be_ fine _, Bruce," he'd insisted. "I've already made up my mind."_

" _Really. And what does Diana think about all this?"_

Diana was less than thrilled about it, especially after it became clear that the camp Clark planned to work was a 'workers-only' site; no families were allowed there since there simply wasn't the infrastructure: it was a hundred miles from the nearest city, with no schools, restaurants, or other amenities. When Diana had tried to talk to Clark about his decision, he only grew more stubborn and argumentative, two of her husband's less-attractive traits.

" _You didn't even discuss this with me before you decided on this?"_

" _We did discuss it, remember? When you agreed with me that it would be a good idea for me to do something, not sit in the Fortress all day."_

" _I didn't mean this! I didn't expect you to just up and leave your family! Did you even bother to think about what it would mean for us? For Jon? We're supposed to be a family!"_

" _I did think about it, Diana – I'm taking care of my family. That's why I'm doing this! We can't keep taking Bruce's charity forever!"_

 _That_ was what galled him, Diana thought as she toweled Jon dry. Bruce had generously provided this little house in a quiet neighborhood for them to live, and he provided Clark with another identity, as he was now a wanted man (or, 'person of interest' as the Orange County police phrased it), wanted for questioning in the disappearance of his uncle, David Kent. He'd also loaned Diana the minivan, more family camouflage. Clark had said nothing, so she'd thought he was all right with it. But the last straw seemed to be when Alfred had shown up with a large box in his arms containing Bruce's old childhood clothes ("All in excellent and serviceable condition still, Miss Diana," Alfred had said with his impeccable English accent).

Even after all these years in Man's World, whenever she thought she'd finally understood the place and its people, something would happen that would baffle her. Often it was her husband. The hardened look on his face when he saw Jon dressed in one of Bruce's old 'hand-me-downs,' as he called them, made her realize that.

Clark had always been stubborn, even pig-headed (in Diana's estimation) at times, but with his 'depowering' those traits seemed to have increased just as his powers decreased. His personality had grown more prickly and moody, and she felt helpless to do anything about it. She couldn't make his powers come back faster. They had argued, but Clark wouldn't be budged, not even by her pleading. Something in him had changed, almost transforming her husband into a cold and distant man.

" _Can't you see I'm doing this for the both of you?"_

" _You're doing this for yourself! For your pride, not for your family! If you were doing this for your family you'd be here with Jon and me!"_

" _Diana…I don't want to leave you and Jon, but I'm doing no good here. I'm going back to work and I'm taking care of my family, that's what a man's supposed to do. If I can't do that I'm worthless."_

" _You are_ not _worthless, you are taking care of your family. You're taking care of Jon. Being a family means being together."_

" _I can't protect you, you or baby Jon. I'm more of a liability._ _You can protect Jon when I'm gone, just fine, you said it yourself, remember? You won't miss me..."_

" _I can't believe you just said that! Fine, go on and leave then, if you're so determined!"_

Her friends in the Justice League had sympathized with her, but were just as helpless as her to change his attitude. J'onn had taken her aside and tried to explain it to her:

"When a person becomes...disabled, often the personality may change. They have to cope with their new body, and it can be a very frustrating, frightening new time."

"But he's not disabled."

"He is, although he may not look it. Yes, he's still stronger than most humans, but not even as strong as Batman. It's like he has become a child again, and it must be very difficult for him, even though he won't say. Just be patient with him, he's still the same Kal-El we know, deep down."

So she had taken the Martian's advice (he was strangely more perceptive of humans that most humans, she thought) and tried to accept Clark's decision. But it wasn't easy. Now, she had to talk some sense into him.

Diana sighed, and dressed Jon in some fresh, clean clothes. Not Bruce's, at least, so Clark couldn't argue about that. Then she combed Jon's silky dark hair.

"We gon fly?"

"No, not today, we are driving."

"No, no, want to see Dada now! Fly!" Jon jumped up and down furiously.

"Stop that. Behave or we can walk instead."

Jon stopped, but his face settled into a sulky pout. _That's his father,_ Diana thought. _The very image._

"Pa," Jon muttered. "Want to see Pa. I want him to come home."

"He's going to," Diana said firmly, and Jon wondered at the conviction in her voice.

Once Diana got Jon into his car seat in the back he quieted down again. She doubted any car accident could injure him, but she didn't need the hassle of being pulled over. Jon watched a cartoon DVD, and she concentrated on her drive: it was over 500 miles to her destination.

Diana would have preferred to fly herself, but there were appearances to be kept - hadn't Clark taught her that? At least she could use the time to get her thoughts in order.

The corporation that owned the camp was putting on a 'Family Day' over the holiday weekend. It would be an opportunity for the wives and families of the workers to reunite with their men and enjoy a break, according to the press release. Diana wondered if it was their way to counter negative press. Clark had already written a series of articles that described how the camps were overflowing with men (and a few women) desperate to find work and prosperity in a struggling economy, and the area had turned into something like the Wild West, while the small local towns surrounding the camp tried to cope with the sudden influx of thousands of people. There was crime, but it seemed to be dwindling as the corporation cracked down and brought in more security, and more amenities.

As Diana drove, and Jon dozed in his car seat, she noticed how the landscape gradually transformed as they went further and further from gentrified suburbia. Houses and storefronts dwindled, and became older, more dilapidated-looking, until they disappeared altogether and then there were mostly endless flat plains broken only by the highway. The weather seemed to grow colder too. It was the sort of detail she didn't often notice. Diana found it all depressing for some reason, although empty nature usually stimulated her.

They stopped for the night at a motel near a Pilot Travel stop, as she decided arriving in the morning would be best, and she would be fresh. She had called Clark beforehand to let him know and he agreed that would be best. He got to talk to Jon, who screamed with his excitement, before the connection died (cell phone service was terrible where he was at). To her surprise, Jon didn't protest, but obediently followed her into the store without fuss. The place was brightly-lit and busy, full of truckers and tired families who'd pulled over for a bathroom break. As regular Diana Prince, no one gave her a second look.

"What a well-behaved child!" The clerk commented as Diana purchased some toiletries and snacks for herself and Jon.

"What do we say, Jon?"

"Tank you maam," he replied gravely, causing to clerk to chuckle.

"We don't often see such polite children nowadays," she remarked. "Too often they just come in and tear around the place, knocking stuff off the shelves, parents don't even do anything."

The middle-aged lady behind the counter eyed Diana curiously, not failing to miss that she looked a bit different from the other customers, most of whom were unfortunately over their optimum body-mass index. "Are you a tourist?"

She hesitated a moment then replied, "Sort of. My husband works up at the Bakken Camp. We're going to visit him."

"Oh, _that_ place," the woman sniffed with obvious disdain. "Well…be careful."

"Why?" Diana asked curiously.

She looked at her, surprised. "Well…it's not the best place for a young lady and a child, if you catch my meaning. A lot of fights and drug use there, I've heard. They've tried to clean it up a bit after the news got wind of it - someone wrote a buncha stories about it - but there's still too many lowlifes up there, and they bring their trouble here. Not that I mean your husband is one of course," the cashier hastily added before turning her attention to the next customer.

Deep in thought, Diana took her bag and walked with Jon back to her car. The last email she'd had from Clark stated everything was fine. Although she could have visited him anytime, he'd asked her not to just drop in – literally - so as to keep up 'appearances.' They'd Skyped a few times but that was it, and their conversations had had all the depth of an episode of reality TV. He would only say that he was so busy with the job and then writing during his free time, he'd hardly had time to do much else. Diana had doubted that, especially after Lois had let drop that she was in regular contact with Clark for his damned articles. It had annoyed her, but she had really tried to respect his wishes, although she didn't believe he had reciprocated. Was there something he didn't want her to see?

The next day dawned a bit warmer and the sun had come out, its light substantially lighting up her mood as well as the environment. Even Jon was being less fussy, although he was clearly very excited; his sheer joy at the thought of seeing his dad was making Diana look more forward to the visit too. Regardless of their arguments in the past, she still loved him, and missed him terribly. She only wondered if he knew how much their separation had hurt her.

 _Does he care?_

Diana pushed that thought out of her mind. She couldn't allow herself to doubt.

It was only a few more hours to the work camp. Diana saw the landscape change again, become grittier and more industrial. Trucks of all kind zoomed past her van, but she also saw regular cars and guessed they were all headed the same way too. Clark had described where she should go, and she navigated her way through the miles of warehouses and storage tanks until she arrived at an area dotted with trailers and modular buildings that had been thrown up as barracks for the workers. She saw a few other hastily constructed buildings that served as convenience stores, bars, a gym, a barber shop, and a first-aid clinic. She saw a big open tent that had a cross stitched over the entrance. There were even a few food trucks arriving, presumably for the family day.

As she drove further into what was obviously the workers' 'town,' following the dirt-and-gravel roads, she saw clusters of men hanging about, mostly big guys, bearded, tough-looking. She supposed they had to be to endure the weather here and the grueling work conditions. Clark said he often worked 12-hour shifts, sometimes out in the below-zero cold. She still didn't know exactly what he did, but whatever it was, it was presumably worth it to keep him away from his family and the job that Bruce had offered him.

Diana shook her head again, tried to keep a positive attitude. She didn't want to argue with Clark right at the start of their visit, it would set the wrong mood for later.

Although there seemed to be no order to the 'streets' she managed to find the right lane and found Clark's trailer, which looked no different from the hundreds of others there.

Jon sat up eagerly, nearly breaking the strap on his car-seat. It wouldn't be the first time. "We here?" He asked excitedly.

"Yes, but don't get out yet! Let me help you out."

Diana got out, took her time getting Jon out of his seat and getting her bags. She had taken the time to dress fashionably, her makeup and her hair arranged, and she was dressed in a warm cashmere coat. But she wondered if she may have overdressed; a few of the other trailers had men lounging outside and she could feel their eyes on her. Well, let them look. She had dressed for Clark.

With Jon practically hopping up and down beside her, Diana took a deep breath and walked up the short level of steps to the door of the trailer. She honestly didn't know what to expect. She hadn't even seen him, even through Skype, for over a week. She tried the door of the trailer; it was unlocked and she opened it.

The smell hit her first - if Man's World could be bottled and sold as scent, this is what it would smell like, she thought. Unwashed clothes and sweat and stale food and air. It was dark inside, with some morning light filtering in through the crooked blinds.

As for bottles, that was the first thing that struck Diana. Empty beer bottles were scattered everywhere, on the table, the chairs, the sofa, even the bloody floor. Furniture was shifted around haphazardly, empty food cartons stacked on top. She stared at the mess - was Jimmy Olsen here too?

"Clark?" She called out tentatively. "Clark where are you?"

No answer.

Holding Jon's hand tightly, she peered in the kitchen - no one. He'd told her he was working nights so he should be off work by now...then she remembered the bedroom.

Diana turned just as the door to the bathroom opened and a skinny man stumbled out, the sound of a flushing toilet following him, pulling up a pair of jeans. It was not her husband. She could practically smell the alcohol coming out of his pores.

He almost ran into her until he looked up, surprised. It wasn't Jimmy Olsen, but it could be a close relation, with his shock of red hair and pasty white face.

"Uhhh...what're you still doing here?" He slurred, clearly hungover. "I thought all you girls left already. We gettin' an encore performance?" He laughed uproariously.

Before the furious Amazon could speak, he looked over his shoulder and bawled.

"Josh! Ya must've forgot to pay off onna th' dancers!"

He turned and dug into his jeans pocket, pulled out some crumpled bills and shoved them at Diana.

"Gotta do everything myself...here, thass all I got, come back later and I'll..."

"Get out," said Diana in a very low tone that seemed to pierce through the man's hungover haze. He blinked, looked at Diana's face and didn't like what he saw there, seemed to see Jon for the first time (who was goggling up at him), and appeared to realize he'd stumbled into a very precarious situation...for him. He shoved the bills back into his pocket.

"Um, uh, yeah...sure thing, no problem..." The man somehow managed to stumble towards the door, grabbing his boots as he did so, and stumbled down the steps, barefoot.

Diana wasted no more time. Pulling Jon behind her, she shoved the bedroom door open.

Clark Kent, or as his alias now had him, Joshua Clark, was sprawled half-on half-off the bed, still dressed in the dirty work clothes he must have had on yesterday, his socks still on. He lay on his stomach, his mouth open, snoring just so slightly - certainly he had never heard his unnamed friend's calls.

"Clark," Diana said, then much louder. " _CLARK_!"

Her husband stirred and looked up, blinking still in sleepiness. "Diana? is that you?"

Jon couldn't wait anymore. He broke free from his mom's hand and leapt onto the bed with surprising speed, nearly knocking Clark backwards as he tried to sit up.

 _"Daddy!"_ Jon cried. _"Daddy daddy daddy!"_

"Oh, hey, Jon my big man!" Clark rubbed his eyes, while his other arm held Jon. "How's my big boy?"

"Your 'friend' just left," Diana said icily, standing in the doorway with her arms folded. "I guess there was quite the party here last night. Sorry I missed it."

"Um...I thought you wouldn't be in until noon...yeah one of the guys on my shift had a birthday party and we'd thought...um..."

Clark held Jon awkwardly with one arm against his stubbly cheek, while Jon clambered all over him.

"He'll be better when he sees his Dad sobered up," Diana pulled a squalling Jon away from Clark. "Go get cleaned up first," she ordered.

"Diana, I-"

"Go take a shower, Clark. I'll clean up here. I don't want Jon to see you like a mess."

Jon giggled happily. "Daddy smell funny!" He laughed.

"Um, all right," Clark at least had the decency to look abashed. He grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom.

After she heard the shower turn on she allowed the ice-queen look to drop from her face and she rubbed her forehead. This reunion was not starting out as she expected.

She herded Jon back into the living room and turned on the TV for him, then began searching for the trash bags. Once she got this dump squared away she and her husband would sit down to a serious talk. About their future.

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **[A/N: I hope readers aren't too put out by what has happened w/Clark and Diana in this chapter, heh heh...but at least I didn't do a New 52 on him, lol. I did want to explore how their relationship may have changed due to his depowering. I put Clark in this setting for a reason, it will have something to do with the plot later...there will be a character (villain) familiar to most of you that will show up there soon...I based the camp on the real Bakken oil boom in ND, which I haven't actually been there so I'm sure all the details are wrong. Anyway, please review...I hope to have a new chapter up soon!]**


	4. Chapter 4 - Unsolicited Advice

**Chapter 4 – Unsolicited Advice**

 _The next day_

Camp Bakken Family Day dawned sunny with un-seasonally warm weather, fortunately providing a perfect setting for the event. The corporation desired that neither negative press nor complaints should arise…as had about their recent operations. Although an intense search had been made for the person responsible for the "unauthorized" articles which appeared online, no one could be positively identified as their author. It was decided instead to develop some positive press, which should not cost them too much money, considering the alternative.

A plot of empty land was cordoned off, and dozens of port-a-johns and trash bins installed. There were bouncy-houses for the kids, a mini-carnival with rides and games, and even a petting zoo borrowed from a local farm. Free BBQ and sheet cake was provided, and should that not suffice convoys of food trucks and other vendors swarmed the site, hoping for plenty of business from the hungry families.

As expected hundreds of people descended onto the site to reunite with loved ones working at the camp. There was an introductory welcoming speech by company officials followed by the singing of the National Anthem, and then the festivities began. Music filled the air as live bands played mostly country and classic rock on a pair of stages. There was also a large beer garden aimed at the single adults – not everyone had family willing to drive to the middle of nowhere.

Diana wasn't particularly interested in the festivities as such, but she made an effort to relax and enjoy herself; as she walked with her family, she saw other couples, ranging from men and women barely out of their teens to those in late middle-age. She couldn't but wonder as to how they made their relationships work. She supposed they did after a fashion, or else they wouldn't be here.

Diana saw a woman about her age standing by one of the food stalls in the arms of her man, talking and laughing with him. The two looked very happy. She couldn't help but wonder: did they have to work for it? But for a certainty, she thought, they did not have the unique difficulties that she and Clark did. Not for the first time did she wonder if it was even possible for such people as herself and Clark to have a 'normal' relationship.

Diana looked away from the couple; she could not allow herself to doubt. For Jon's sake, she had to try at whatever passed for 'normality' in Man's World. She had assumed the mantle of wife and mother and had to play her role as best she could. She knew in her heart that Clark was trying, in his own way, to do the same, although sometimes that way was fairly mystifying to her.

Clark Kent aka Joshua Clark (a name borrowed from one of his adopted mother's grandparents) held Jon in one arm, Diana's hand with the other. Jon clung to his father's denim work-shirt, holding a balloon animal carefully in his hands. He observed his surroundings wide-eyed, taking in all the sights.

"I didn't think there would be so many people here," Diana observed, affecting a tone of casualness in her voice.

"It's a big operation, here," Clark replied in the same tone. "There are thousands of guys here, almost all of them from out-of-state, construction workers, machinists, truck drivers, all kinds. The money's good, though I heard it was better a couple of years ago, before the boom caught on."

Diana didn't remember exactly how much Clark said he'd made, and she resisted the impulse to ask how much he'd saved. The last thing she wanted to do was to get into an argument about money. She knew this job just wasn't only about money with him. She'd read his articles, very well-written they were, although from what she had gleaned, she wasn't sure there was anything really sinister going on here other than some possible fudging of environmental laws. Clark seemed to think otherwise, and so did Lois, his employer now.

Lois Lane had shared some of her thoughts with her before she left for her reunion. "I have a hunch that's something else going on there than this 'alternative energy' line, I can feel it," Lois had said in that investigative journalist voice of hers. "Clark hasn't been able to find anything yet, though."

"How long is this going to take?" Diana had tried to keep her temper in check. One reason her husband was gone was that Lois had commissioned him to write this story in the first place. As far as she was concerned Lois couldn't pay enough to make Clark's absence worthwhile.

For the first time, though, Lois looked doubtful. "I, ah, don't really know. Clark hasn't been able to really dig up anything yet, but he's only been on it a month."

"A month is enough," Diana said firmly. "If you hadn't noticed, he's had to be away from the wife and kid."

"I…well, you might be right," Lois admitted ruefully. "It's not the most glamorous topic is it? Corporate shenanigans in the far north…no one wants to read about that. No murders, no scandals...at least nothing that Clark's uncovered. Hey...he's not gotten into any fights, has he?"

"No...nothing serious," Diana replied, although she had noticed a few bruises and scabbed knuckles the last time she'd managed to talk to him over FaceTime.

"Oh...that's good, I guess. Now that would be a story, underground fight clubs in the lawless work camps of the north! People would devour that! But, actually, I was thinking of asking Clark to wrap it up soon, and give him another assignment, I have something else I could use him on. Something closer to home," she'd added hastily seeing the look the Amazon gave her.

"Are you going to tell him, then?" Diana hoped it would be soon.

Lois had looked at her slyly. "Since you're going out to see him, I thought _you_ could tell him."

It didn't matter, she was more than ready. She wanted to discuss it yesterday, and hoped it wouldn't lead to another argument. But actually there had hardly been any time to argue. Yesterday, while she'd cleaned up the mess of Clark's trailer (Diana sometimes wondered what the Fortress would be like without those robots), Jon was so eager for his daddy's attention, she could hardly get in a word edgewise. He wanted to tell his daddy _everything_ he'd done when he'd been gone.

"I made for you," Jon pushed his coloring book at Clark shyly.

"What have you got there…oh, I see," Clark turned the pages, seeing the crayon drawings made by a two-year-old hand. Jon had drawn the three of them in big stick figures: Diana recognizable by her tiara and him by his red cape, all with big grins. They were surrounded by jagged blue lines – presumably the Fortress – followed by more drawings of him flying, fighting a giant robot, and in glasses with briefcase in hand. Clark smiled: Jon had even drawn a picture of Batman complete with big frown and pointy ears.

"He's got Bruce down pat."

Clark turned the page and his smile dimmed. There was picture of Diana, standing against the backdrop of their old home, alone. Jon had drawn her dripping tears in blue crayon.

"Oh," Clark managed to say, noticeably avoiding looking in his wife's direction, where she was vacuuming the bedroom, but she could hear every word of course. "Why does Mommy look so sad?"

"Ma's sad because you're gone," Jon replied complacently. "Ma's always sad."

That had been most awkward, Diana thought, and only partially wrong. But an equally awkward conversation about it was thwarted when someone had knocked on the trailer door, and then what seemed like an endless parade of Clark's work buddies had tromped in and out, wanting to meet his family, bringing in their own wives and girlfriends and kids who had just arrived like her. They all seemed to be men in similar situations to Clark's…well not quite similar, but in what her husband would have called "hard-luck" stages. Clark may have described himself in like company, Diana thought. She found herself talking more with them than with her husband, finding many of them were also struggling with circumstances beyond their control.

The most impressive of them had been one of the biggest men Diana had ever seen, even bigger than Clark, a bald and muscular African-American gentleman. Jon had goggled up at him and the man gave the little boy a big toothy grin as big as his chest. Jon had promptly run to hide behind his mother's legs.

"John Henry Irons, ma'am," he'd introduced himself. His hand swallowed up Diana's. "I work the evenin' shift with your old man."

"You are an oil worker too?"

Irons had laughed, a deep and rich sound. "No, I'm just a welder! I do repairs, some fabricating. We actually don't work in oil here, it's some new-fangled new energy source I couldn't begin to tell you...didn't Josh tell you?"

"No…he hasn't told me much of what he does," Diana glanced at Clark meaningfully, who had the decency to look abashed. "I thought you were drilling for oil."

"Well, that's what this all started out as," Irons explained. "But then the prices started going down, so they had to diversify, or so that's what they said. We're drilling down to something deep, but what I don't know for. Maybe a type of fracking, it's supposed to be something revolutionary."

"Oh," Diana replied. "Is it dangerous?"

Clark shook his head. "No. It's just a lot of work."

Diana had thought Irons had looked doubtful at that but he evidently decided not to say anything in front of her. That had piqued her curiosity and she wanted to pursue it but decided not to, for the moment. She didn't want to forget what she had come here for, and she stuck with small talk.

"Is your family visiting too?"

"Nah, I'm divorced, ma'am. My kids are in still school so they couldn't take the time off today, but at least I can pay their bills," Irons chuckled ruefully. "Anyway, it's nice to meet you. I just wanted to say you got a great man there in Josh. He's one of the best workers we got here, don't slack off or nothin' not like some of these other greenhorns we got around here."

"Mmm," Diana murmured. Clark said nothing, just poured a cup of coffee for her.

"Everyone works hard, you have to in this place," he said slowly. "There's been…accidents. No one knows how many exactly."

"Yeah, well, let's not worry the missus," Irons chuckled again, but this time there was a quality of uneasiness about it, barely hidden. "You've always been very careful."

Diana would have liked to ask Mr. Irons more about it, but then she had to keep an eye on Jon, who had taken the opportunity with many other kids around to misbehave with them, to the best of his considerably ability, shouting and running in and out of the trailer and all around it, very loudly. By the time she managed to round up the wretched man-spawn the big man was leaving, saying he had to go to his next shift.

Then, when they finally got some time alone, and Jon had tired himself out and been put to bed, Clark was in the mood for something else than conversation.

"I haven't seen you for almost a month," he'd whispered in her ear, his hands on her body, squeezing her buttocks, her arms, her breasts.

"Clark," Diana had tried to protest, but not very vigorously. "We need to talk."

"Let's save the talk for tomorrow," his hands were fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. "I've missed you so much."

There was something about this man that managed to get past all her carefully constructed defenses, and she found herself going along with his wishes. She knew in her heart that she had missed him just as dearly. Her body ached for him, and so when she felt his hands on her, _in_ her, she simply let him do as he pleased...which was all quite pleasing to her as well. That was one power he had that hadn't changed, much to her relief.

Yet as pleasing as it was it did nothing to resolve their current predicament.

Now she was here, sitting with Jon at an outdoor table waiting for Clark to return with their lunch. She knew she would have to broach the subject with him sooner rather than later and so it may as well be today. Still, she found herself unsettled by being so unsure on how he would react to the news. He was different, now…the same man she had married, yet different all the same. Others had noticed it too, had simply said it was just him adjusting to his new condition…but they didn't know him like she did.

Clark soon returned with a couple of plates heaped with BBQ chicken, hot dogs, and potato salad. She hadn't seen him so relaxed for some time, not since before the destruction of the alien city of Pnakoutos, when he had destroyed the entire place with his solar flare, shocking everyone, most especially himself. It had been a very difficult time the first few weeks afterwards, as Clark struggled to cope with the loss of his powers caused by the flare. Their friends had tried to help, but Clark had always been an active - and proud - man, she realized, despite his innate humility, and it hurt him to be sidelined. Batman certainly hadn't helped, with his orders for Clark to stay out of any possible danger.

"I'm not going to stay in a bubble, Bruce," Clark had argued. "I can't do that."

"You don't get it do you," he'd replied, not bothering to hide his annoyance as if Clark was an employee who'd refused to take his vacation hours. "If it gets out that you are depowered, every one of our enemies will take advantage of it to attack us and to create mayhem all over the world. It's the fear of Superman's powers that keep them from murdering each other, not your vision of world peace."

"So you need people to keep being afraid of the alien from another world," Clark had said bitterly. "That's my only job now."

"One which you need to keep doing."

Bruce relentlessly berated Clark for his self-pity, which only made matters worse (Clark had even taken a swing at him one day, the ineffectiveness of which had hardly helped his mood and only bolstered Bruce's argument) and now the two friends were hardly speaking at all. At least, Clark said, he was still a journalist, and he didn't need his super powers for that. He didn't need the Justice League for that, either. Bruce had been less than thrilled when he learned what Clark was doing, and only Diana's intervention had prevented him from interfering. It wasn't the greatest decision, she'd realized, but one she'd had to make in order to keep Clark from exploding from frustration. Now, however...

"I'm starving," Clark said as he sat down. "Let me know if you want more."

Diana looked down at her plate of food while Clark tucked in as if he hadn't eaten for days - the whole drippy syrupy mess looked rather unappetizing. She focused on feeding Jon instead.

"What's going on with…everyone?" Clark said around a mouthful of food. It was the first time he'd asked after the Justice League.

Diana shrugged, as she cut up Jon's hot dog into small pieces. "Not much, really. It's been very quiet, thank the gods."

Clark frowned. "What about that terrorist attack in northern Africa?"

"It could have been much worse than it was, if not for Shazam. He managed to save most of the passengers, and apprehend the criminals too."

"Sounds like he's doing a good job," Clark said approvingly. "I didn't think he'd have the discipline."

"He still needs work, he's got all the humility of a 12-year-old, which he really is."

Clark laughed. "I imagine he's a handful!"

"You don't even know," Diana grumbled. She didn't add how he'd been a royal pain in the arse until Bruce had taken him aside. No one knew what he'd said to him but Batson returned looking much more subdued.

She added: "They all miss you, you know. They're always asking about you, how you're doing."

Clark said nothing, focused on sawing at his overcooked chicken breast with his plastic knife.

Diana sighed. She knew this had to be said. "Even Bruce."

Clark just grunted in response like an uncivilized Argive, a mannerism she misliked.

"Bruce is too busy to miss anyone."

"You're not being fair to him. You know how he is."

Clark watched Jon eat his hot dog pieces. "Yes, I do. I'm surprised he hasn't tried to stick me in his cave with the rest of his collection. It's fine for him to talk, he doesn't have a family to look after."

She looked at him. "Is that what you're doing?"

Clark stared at her. "Diana, that's not fair. You know I am. I'm doing the best I can."

"I know that when Jon cries in the night, wondering where his father is and if he is okay, only I am there to comfort him. And I cannot tell him when he is coming home."

Clark's forehead creased. "Diana, we talked about this. You knew that I would have to be on assignment on site for awhile."

"Lois wants you back too, she says this assignment isn't panning out."

"What?" Clark stared at her in dismay. _He is still more concerned about his scoop than his family,_ Diana thought.

But I'm not done here yet, there's something going on here, I know it! There's a section of the camp that not even the best workers are allowed in, it's where they're doing their most intensive work..."

Clark clenched his fist. "If I...if I had my powers I could find out what it was much sooner. That's the only reason it's taken me this long to work up to being as close as I am now."

"That's an excuse...not to mention the risk having you in one of those 'accidents' your friend was talking about?"

"Diana," Clark's voice was mild and slightly chastising, another irritating tone of voice he sometimes used with her. "There are risks everywhere. I can't hide from them, here or at home."

"I would rather have you home," Diana said quietly, resting her folded arms on the picnic table. "You've done all you can here. The League needs you back, and I do too."

"The League gets along very well without me, it's obvious," Clark said stubbornly. "Diana, I _will_ come home, but I need to finish my work here first. Maybe another month or two, after that then-"

Diana looked at him then, with the most direct stare he had seen from her since she'd arrived at the work-camp.

"I'm pregnant, again," She said simply.

Clark nearly fell off his bench, stunned, much as he had once done when she had first said such a thing to him two years ago. For a moment he heard nothing, not the cover band, not the mild roar of people around him. There was nothing except the two of them, and Jon beside her, blissfully unaware of what was happening.

"How...when?" He managed.

"I imagine you know the how, as for when, I believe it was the last time you were home," Diana replied calmly. "I hope you remember, Clark?"

"I...Diana, of course I do," he reached out and grasped her hand, the import of what she was saying dawning on him. "But...why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"When I was pregnant with baby Jon you were gone, and though I was with my sisters, I was still alone, not with the one person I really needed. I do not want a repeat of that experience."

Clark understood then. "Diana...I..."

"Jon and I are leaving in the morning," Diana continued, not waiting for his response, wiping Jon's face and hands. "I hope I will see you after...soon. We need you home. It matters not to me where we are or our circumstances, as long as you are with me."

Clark said nothing, as Diana picked up Jon and walked away through the crowd, leaving him sitting alone in the midst of the teeming crowd.

* * *

 _Later that evening..._

As night fell, most of the workers and their wives and children retired to their trailer homes, RVs, or drove to motel rooms or to the airport. Yet, many still remained on site. The bars that had been constructed just for the benefit of the workers roared with business. The air resounded with the sound of bikers who descended upon the camp. The night was young and the hard partying was just getting started.

Clark walked almost blindly through the darkness, barely hearing or seeing the commotion around him. His mind was buzzing still with Diana's news. He couldn't stay still. His body burned with restless energy, finding no outlet for release.

He and Diana had always hoped for more children after Jon. He knew that Diana wanted a girl, despite her claims that any gender would be most welcome. In truth though, having another child had been the furthest from his mind, what with...the events of the recent months. He had always thought that he would be overjoyed with the news, and he _was_ joyful but most of all what he felt was anxiety and not a little fear.

His powers were gone. Bruce may claim he was just as strong as any human male, but at the Hall of Justice he had demonstrated that he was just a little bit stronger, something that Clark couldn't help but think that pleased Bruce just a little. Yes, he was a stronger than he had been those first few terrible days after Pnakoutos had been obliterated, those days when he could barely walk and dress himself, much less fly. But how long before he was back to the way he was? Months? Years? _If_ he got back to the way he was?

And...the alien city was never far from his mind, and sometimes he had nightmares about it, although he had told no one, only Diana, and only sparingly at that. He didn't remember much of what had happened, the last thing he could recall clearly was the horrible face of the Yith looming over him, then a brightness...and then nothing. He had remembered nothing until he had woken up in the Watchtower. He didn't know how he had "flared" or even if he could do it again. Yet, he couldn't help but think that some of the League looked at him a little differently afterwards, a little warily. The Thanagarians, especially Hawkman, although Hawkgirl pretended not too...even Bruce seemed disturbed. It gave him the terrible feeling of being a kid again, when the other kids looked at him as a freak. He knew, mentally, that wasn't their intention but the feeling was still there. He had to get away, at least for awhile, he'd pleaded he'd had to go back to a job, a normal job. He thought some of them understood, but not Bruce.

Now, this: a new baby. Clark wanted to be happy, as he had been when Diana was pregnant was Jon, but he felt like he was almost consumed with worry.

Clark was so distracted that he nearly ran straight into the big, burly biker in front of him. The biker turned and stared at him.

"I'm sorry," Clark apologized hastily. "I didn't mean to run into you, I-"

"Looks like your super-sight has gone _adios_ along with the rest of your super powers, _bastich_ ," a deep rumbling voice said. "Too bad for you."

Clark blinked and stared. The biker was huge in his studded black leathers, and with his white skin and black coloring around his eyes he could easily have passed for a Scandinavian death metal band member...which was what sounded like was playing in the nearest bar. But his reddish eyes gave him away. His hair was different, hanging long and straight down, but it was unmistakably the Czarnian.

 _Damn it, of all the places...and now?!_

"I don't want any trouble, Lobo," Clark said, forcing himself to sound authoritative, much as he used to.

"Too bad, looks like you've got it," the alien growled. He took a step menacingly forward. "I heard ya lost all your powers. What a shame, Kryptonian." He clenched his fists.

Clark tensed with anger and alarm. If Lobo meant to fight, there was no way he could defend himself, and Diana was not here. "If you want to kill me, Lobo, you better do it now, it's the only chance you're ever going to have."

The Czarnian stared at him with his hellish eyes. But what he said next surprised him. "Hahah! Had you going for a minute, didn't I? I saw the fear in your eyes! Wish I had a camera." His hands unclenched.

"What are you talking about?"

"Much as I'd like to tear your head right off your shoulders and use it as a hood ornament, there'd be no glory in killin' someone who can't fight back. Hell, word'll get around, and how would that look? Not that I really care but...anyway, I'd thought I'd have a beer first before I blow this joint. Wanna join me?"

This was so unexpected that Clark felt himself just standing and staring at him. What the hell was this guy up to now? Was this a trap?

"C'mon, man. I always knew ya were a tightassed sort, but are ya still clenching 'em so hard ya can't even have a beer with me?"

Clark thought about it.

* * *

 _Five minutes later..._

There had certainly been plenty of strange episodes in Clark's life, he'd thought while on his third bottle of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. He'd traveled to strange places on this world and off world too. But there probably was not an instance stranger than right now, sitting at a bar next to the killer bounty hunter called Lobo. Just being within visual distance would reduce most sentient beings to shuddering terror, but Clark felt rather mellow.

He seemed less satisfied by his beer than Clark. "Pigswill," he proclaimed. But Clark noticed he drank it anyway.

"I s'pose it's better than nothing," Lobo remarked. The bar thrummed around them as a local band belted out hard metal. Most of the patrons were workers like Clark or bikers, or were both, roughnecks hardly to be cowed by the strange-looking alien, probably thinking him just another transient weirdo. When he'd sat down at the bar and bawled for a round of beers the bartender had barely noticed.

"Y'know, we're not so different, you and I," Lobo reflected. "We're the last of our species, nothing else like us in the galaxy."

Clark's mind drifted to Jon but he held his tongue, not wanting to reveal to this madman at least one more Kryptonian in existence but Lobo surprised him.

"Oh yeah, I know ya got a kid and all...big mistake, man, big mistake."

"It's no mistake," Clark growled. "Don't mention my son again."

"Or you'll what?" Lobo punched him on the arm, and Clark visibly winced, which made the alien laugh, a harsh crude noise. "Get wifey to protect ya? I hope she's keeping her eyes open."

"What are you talking about, Lobo?"

Lobo frowned, and just grunted, turning back to his beer. He swallowed it, tossed it aside and demanded another one. The bartender glowered at first but after the look Lobo gave him, brought two more posthaste.

"You're in deep shit, Kryptonian! All of you."

"You're threatening us? I may be depowered but the rest of the League-"

"I don't give a rat's ass about the Justice League" Lobo replied. "Lemme ask you something: why haven't you taken over this shitball? You could be a god here, or could have "been, anyways. A whole planet at your beck and call."

"That's not who I am," Clark grumbled. "You know that. I'm not a monster like you."

Lobo just gave another ugly laugh. "Now yer just a pansy, like the rest of these bastiches," he gestured around him. "Too bad for you."

"I'll ask you again, what are you talking about?"

Lobo shrugged, turned back to his beer. "I'm blowin' this mudball. I would have suggested you do the same, but obviously ya can't, not anymore. Oh well."

"Why?"

"No money ta' be made here. Waste of my time. Better pickins elsewhere."

Clark felt himself slightly tipsy but not drunk. Not yet anyway. "You're running away from something."

Lobo fixed his eyes on him then, dangerously. "Watch it bastich. No one accuses the Main Man of bein' a coward!"

"Why don't you take over this planet, then, if you're so tough?"

Lobo reached and grabbed the front of Clark's shirt. He didn't flinch. It was hardly noticed in the hot, noisy atmosphere of the bar.

"Get outside, Kryptonian, and we'll see who's tough."

He dragged Clark off his stool and pulled him outside. The bartender bawled for the tab money and Lobo cursed at him while tossing a handful of bills over his shoulder. He shoved Clark outside through the doors. The night air was cool and helped sober him up a bit, but not enough to be afraid of the Czarnian.

"You're leaving this planet because of me," Clark said. "I see it now. You know about the solar flare. You think I can do it again and you think I'll use it against you."

Lobo snarled, shoving Clark so hard he nearly flew off his feet. "If I thought ya could do it again, I'd kill you right now, right here. Yer not worth it, never was. Yer parents should have let you blow up along with their asses."

Clark would have liked to smash his fist in his face, but the thought of Jon held him back. Suddenly, another thought occurred to him, why Lobo had gone to all this farce. It would be a risk, provoking the crazy Czarnian.

"Why don't you kill me anyway? Go on, do it! I'll never be the man I was, so you'd be doing me a favor."

Lobo seemed to consider it a moment, then his evil-clownlike face twisted into a smile. "Yeah, I would be. But I don't think so. I don't want wifey pissed at me, I don't need the hassle. I'm leaving tonight."

"Why the hurry?" Clark demanded. "You said we were in danger-"

"Yeah, and I don't care to be around when the shit hits the fan. Like I says, if I thought there was any money in it I'd stick around and watch the show, but there isn't. You pissed off the wrong bastiches with your little light show in the desert. And anyways, I got better places to be, other people ta kill."

"Who's pissed off at us? Who are you talking about?"

He laughed again and stepped closer to Clark, who tensed. "Never mind what I said. Let's just say, I wanna see some new places. No hard feelings, eh?"

Clark relaxed his shoulders, then realized that was a mistake. Lobo's fist caught him square in the face, and he fell like a sack of rocks, pain rocketing through his head. Tears spurted involuntarily from his eyes. He saw through their blur, Lobo laughing, holding his bloody fist to his mouth, and lick it.

 _Damn it, he's going to kill me after all, Diana, I'm sorry...Jon..._

"Hahaha!" Lobo laughed uproariously as if he had heard the funniest joke. The bikers loitering around the parking lot barely took any notice, although they began trickling away. "Couldn't help myself, I just had to know what the blood of a Kryptonian tasted like, hahaha! Ya look better now already! No hard feelins', eh? Like I said, we're more alike than not."

"I'm nothing like you," Clark gasped. "You're a killer, you committed genocide against your own people."

Lobo snorted. "You obviously never met any other Czarnians, otherwise you wouldn't complain about it. As for 'genocide' or whatever ya wanna call it, hell, that's another thing we got in common, eh? Least I never flamed out the last Yith in existence, gotta admit I'm jealous though. But like I says, ya just bought yourself a world of shit. Hope the bastiches of this dungball appreciate it. They don't appreciate anything else they do for ya, ya do know that, don't you? If ya have any brains, ya'd light on out of here too."

Lobo strode over to his flyer, which fit in with half a dozen other souped-up choppers in the parking lot, which Clark struggled to sit up. Lobo looked at him one last time, as if admiring his handiwork.

"So long, bastich!"

The flyer roared and flew down the solitary road. Only Clark saw it leave, sitting in the dust of the lot with blood trickling down his face as he saw it's lights grow smaller, then abruptly rise to the sky. No one else saw it.

Whatever the crazy Czarnian had been talking about, he had no idea, but he sensed something behind all the alien's blustering: he wanted to avoid what would happen on Earth. The Justice League had to be informed.

Staggering a little, Clark got to his feet, and managed to walk back to his trailer.

* * *

Diana was always a light sleeper, but it took several shakes of her shoulder before she woke. She'd fallen into a deep sleep despite the lumpy mattress. She recognized the touch, so she didn't lash out, as she would when abruptly woken from sleep. "Clark?"

She opened her eyes and sat up, blinking away sleep. The first thing she smelled was the beer and winced. He'd been drinking again. "Clark..."

Diana then noticed the massive bruise under his eyes. "By the gods, what happened? Were you fighting...?"

"Never mind that," he took her arms, until he knew he had her attention. She watched him, slightly puzzled. "Diana, I'm gong home."

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **[A/N: I usually don't care for Lobo, he's a bit of comic relief to me, but I couldn't resist but throw him in here and let him and Clark have a beer together, heh heh. Lobo's always been a bit of a shit though, and he could have been a bit clearer but he's right in one thing - something big's going to happen! Next chapter we return to Batman and Zatanna!]**


	5. Chapter 5 - The Price

**Chapter 5 – The Price**

 _Washington D.C._

The nondescript concrete-gray office building was situated far enough from the hub of White House, Congress and other important federal buildings of State so that many tourists and even locals ignored it altogether, assuming its distance signified yet another bland bureaucracy whose job was the trivial – perhaps the Department of Weights and Measures, or Mattress Standards, or some such to make the taxpayers' lives as miserable as its outward facade. The building, built in the 1960s as one of the last designs of the French architect La Corbusier, also suggested no particular historical significance or Freemasonic influence, which could draw the attention of history buffs or conspiracy theorists. It was best ignored, driven past quickly. Therefore, it served as the ideal headquarters of an organization that potentially possessed more power than all three branches of the United States government put together.

It was here that the remaining elements of A.R.G.U.S. retreated to following the debacle in the Australian desert. The failure of Project Pnakoutos to secure the bulk of the Yithian technology, as well as the devastation of a huge swathe of the environment for a foreign nation, had displeased many in certain places of power already suspicious of A.R.G.U.S. and its chiefs and its methods.

Yet all was not a loss, Amanda Waller considered. They had secured some very important artifacts, and acquired valuable knowledge, with great potential. More importantly, they had wounded the Justice League, she was certain: Superman had had to acknowledge publicly that he had to take a 'leave of absence.' While he had not given specific reasons for his absence, Waller thought she had a good idea for it, more than a good idea in fact. Still, the Justice League was a perpetual thorn in her side, reminding her of her insignificance.

But, she was certain, A.R.G.U.S. now held a potential advantage, one that if utilized correctly, could bring about the realization of their greatest objective.

However, it would now require the most intensive planning and coordination for the realization of this objective. Waller did not believe in leaving anything to chance.

So, on this early spring day two months following the Pnakoutos gambit (as she called it in her mind), she called a meeting of two of her most senior advisers in her comfortably appointed office in the gray building.

Dr. Fenderbrake had his offices here, a floor below hers, so he arrived early. A tall and slender man in his late middle-age, with a shock of iron-gray hair and piercing blue eyes, he was Waller's senior scientific adviser…and most trusted confidante. His manner matched the iciness of his eyes;the setback in Australia had not fazed him one iota, and he was the one who had pointed out the potentialities it created. He did not dwell on mistakes, and was devoid of all human mercy, a quality she admired, despite his mysterious background. He sat next to her massive credenza, waiting for the next man to arrive.

Waller had given some thought to choosing her next military adviser following the disappointment of General Sam Lane, who had fortunately perished in Pnakoutos. In the end he had proven a traitor, who had blown up Project Pym, her project with the missing soldier Sergeant Kent, who had been abducted by the Yith during the Vietnam War, who had delayed his aging and kept him alive for their mysterious purposes. That was a loss of powerful information. She needed someone more reliable, who would not be bothered with scruples when it came to achieving their goals.

General Carl Strauch arrived shortly after the good doctor, dressed neatly in his army uniform. He bore a minor resemblance to Fenderbrake, although his background was not in medicine but its opposite, the taking of life as swiftly, silently, and efficiently as possible. A veteran of many Special Forces units, including the Green Berets, he had participated in his share of Black Ops throughout the globe during his 30 years of service. Waller knew that the man did not desire to hang up his sword, so to speak, until the metahuman problem had been dealt with conclusively.

General Strauch, like many of his military comrades, was skeptical about civilians running the show.

"I heard you all had your asses handed to you in Australia," the general said in his gruff voice once the brief pleasantries had been done with. "The Commander-in-Chief nearly cut off your existence altogether."

"It's true that our budget, like those of other governmental departments, has been trimmed," Dr. Fenderbrake replied. "However it has only compelled us to become more creative with our projects. I imagine that our next Commander-in-Chief may also be more sympathetic to us, given his attitudes towards illegal immigrants."

"'Creative,'" snorted the general. "You don't do more with less you do less with less. I saw that in Afghanistan."

"Fortunately, we don't have the eye of the general public on our projects," Waller interjected. "Everything we do is in utmost confidence."

"Despite that, I've heard what is being said about A.R.G.U.S. in hallways in Congress, and the Pentagon. It's said that A.R.G.U.S. is a spent force and useless. You've failed to neutralize any members of the so-called Justice League, much less Superman. Certain people are thinking maybe they should work with Superman, rather than against him. It's actually come to that!"

"And what do you think, General?" Fenderbrake asked pointedly.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Superman is a threat to the human race, I've never believed otherwise. I never fell for that 'boy-scout' act and neither did Sam. There's no doubt in my mind that he was murdered by that alien monster out there in the desert."

"I have heard as much," Waller murmured. She didn't add that those rumors had been carefully planted by her operatives in places where they were likely to be believed, and garner support for A.R.G.U.S.'s mission. "Lane was a true patriot."

"Lane gave his life to expose the truth," Strauch rumbled. "I want assurances that if I lend my support, this Superman will pay for his murder."

"You have them."

Strauch leaned forward in his chair. "I need more than words. I need to know that you actually have some kind of viable plan in play."

Waller nodded understandingly. "That is what I wanted to demonstrate to you today. Yes, I know everything that is being said about A.R.G.U.S. but those time-servers up on Capitol Hill don't have the full picture. We have acquired a great deal of information, and technology, which our teams have managed to analyze successfully."

"Hah! Don't tell me you've captured a little flying saucer and are reverse-engineering it in Area 51," Strauch laughed dismissively.

"No, nothing of the sort," Dr. Fenderbrake said patiently. "You will receive the full details shortly…once you are fully onboarded with A.R.G.U.S. I knew that you would want some concrete demonstration. I am prepared to show it to you today."

The general's eyes widened, as Fenderbrake reached into his briefcase at the side of his chair, as if he'd expected him to pull out some alien pistol. But what he brought out was a plain manila folder, with papers inside. He handed it to him, who opened it curiously.

Strauch's interest soon turned to open disdain. "What? A mercenary? That's your big plan?"

"Not just any mercenary," Waller said. "Slade Wilson, aka Deathstroke the Termina-"

"I know who he is," Strauch interrupted. "An ex-Special Forces operative, who kills for the highest bidder, no allegiance whatsoever to any nation, ideology, or religion."

Strauch flipped through the file, which included several photographs of a big man in heavy body armor, his face concealed by a fearsome and featureless mask, in others his head was exposed, revealing a grizzled and goateed white-haired man with one eye, the other concealed by an eyepatch. In all the photos, he was standing next to corpses on the ground, his handiwork.

"Slade Wilson's an old man. Hell he's been active since I was in Officers Training Corps! Anyway, no one's heard of him for a couple of years now, last I heard was that he was headed into Central Asia to track down some warlord. Far as I know the sonofabitch's bones're still lying there."

"You're wrong on that count, _old man_."

Strauch spun in his chair and gaped at the man who had appeared behind him in Waller's office. Not many people were able to sneak up so quietly on him, even if he had been distracted. Strauch didn't recognize the intruder, a tall and muscular American-looking guy, clean-shaven with close-cropped black hair. He looked ex-military, especially as he was wearing a bomber jacket and military-style cargo slacks, but Strauch couldn't place him. He wore no identification badge, and shouldn't even have been able to get in the building, much less on the top floor, without one.

"General," Waller said. Neither she nor Fenderbrake looked surprised at the man's sudden appearance. "Meet Mr. Slade Wilson."

"What?" Strauch stared between them. " _This_ is Slade Wilson? Bullshit!"

"'Fraid not," the man said mildly. Casually he pulled up another chair and sat next to the astonished army officer, appraising him coolly. Strauch felt a chill run down his spine as the man's eyes met his. They weren't a young man's eyes, they were those of an experienced killer's. He had met plenty of those types before. And there was something about the man's face, his voice.

"How is this possible?" To his credit, the general did not appear frightened, only a bit annoyed and dismayed at being startled. Waller was impressed.

"It's a long story, General, and if I told you everything, why'd I'd have to kill you…like those guards you'd placed out front to keep me from getting in."

Wilson reached into the backpack he'd carried in, pulled out a pair of sidearms with attached belts. Wetness gleamed on the straps, and stained the ID badges a dark brown. He tossed them into the furious general's lap.

"Damn it, those were some of my finest trained men-"

"Expendable assets," Wilson finished. "Just like you."

"General Strauch is joining us, Mr. Wilson," Waller said quickly, perhaps the only thing that prevented the general from being killed on the spot. "He is going to provide us the backup we need in our next endeavor. I trust that our 'down payment' has convinced you of our sincerity, Mr. Wilson?"

"Maybe."

Slade Wilson ran a hand over the stubble on his cheek. He had to admit, when he'd first received the communiqué from Waller and A.R.G.U.S. his initial response was to dismiss it. He was wary of any proposal, especially from this outfit, but when he'd learned the details…he had let his own curiosity - and desperation - get the better of him. Besides, the general, the old bastard, had been right – he _was_ old. He was arthritic and possibly suffering from incipient dementia caused by repeated concussions too numerous to count. His last mission had almost cost him his life, he'd made so many mistakes he wouldn't have made ten years earlier, and there was his reputation to consider too. There had been no choice really, either he had a choice of a prolonged and unpleasant death, perhaps in a nursing home, or a sudden quick one. He had made contact with Waller's representatives, with the understanding he was not committing to anything unless he had certain assurances of his own. He had met with Waller's operatives in a remote location in the Gobi Desert.

When he had woken up from the immersion into the pit, he had thought he was dying. In fact, he had been certain of it. He had struggled to fight, take out as many people as he could - perhaps he had killed a few in his wild thrashings, he wasn't sure - then nothing. He'd fallen unconscious, for perhaps a day or more. When he'd woken again – assisted by Waller's people, they were nothing if not persistent – he had been no less surprised than the fuming idiot next to him.

"Ra's Al-Ghul and his crew called it a 'Lazarus Pit' I remember," Wilson muttered. "Something magic something or other that could bring the dead back to life, revivify the dying. I thought it was all bullshit but…"

"Nothing magic at all," Fenderbrake said very quietly. "Technology, of a sort, left here millions of years ago, and exploited by the ignorant. But A.R.G.U.S. is rediscovering it, all for one purpose." There was an eagerness in his voice Slade didn't quite understand.

"If you have all this…technology," Slade suspiciously eyed Waller and Fenderbrake. "Why don't you take out the Justice League on your own?"

"We failed," Fenderbrake admitted flatly. The statement startled both Slade and Strauch in its bluntness. "We are lacking a certain…asset."

"You want me to be that asset," Slade got it.

"Our first objective is Superman."

"Oh, nice, a suicide mission, a perfect task for someone you've just granted the fountain of life to." Slade's tone was contemptuous. "Do you think I'm a fool?"

"Not at all," Fenderbrake explained. "Superman has been virtually hidden from sight ever since Australia. Why do you think that is?"

"He was injured," Strauch's mind returned to the task at hand. "Somehow. We know he can be injured."

"We believe he caused the destruction of our…facility in Australia," Waller said. "Although the press was told that it was an underground explosion caused by an earthquake, that is only part of the truth. The expenditure of energy we recorded there surpassed anything that can be caused by human technology, but not by an alien that has stored solar energy for over twenty years in his cells."

"Superman did that?" Wilson and Strauch exchanged astonished glances.

"He released the equivalent of a small solar flare. But in the process, he was injured to the point of near-incapacity. So we believe."

"You 'believe' but you're not sure," Slade said, not sounding convinced.

"No, we have not been able to track him. However we are reasonably certain he is not ensconced within the Watchtower or the Hall of Justice. We need 'eyes on the ground to locate him.'"

"If it is true Superman is incapacitated, to whatever degree, this may be our best and only chance to eliminate him once and for all!" Waller emphasized. "We know he can regenerate, perhaps in time he will regain all his power, so we need to strike and strike soon, while he's weak."

Slade leaned back in his padded leather chair, crossed his legs, assuming the air of a skilled negotiator. Strauch eyed him warily.

"Your 'down payment' was just to get me in the door," Slade remarked cynically. "Of course it would have had to have been a hefty one, wouldn't it, to go up against Superman himself, even if he was down to half or quarter power."

"Maybe not even that," Waller added. "He could be at only the strength of an ordinary man, or even a child."

Slade was silent for a long moment. The silence stretched out.

"Will you take the job?" Waller asked. She stared pointedly at Strauch. "You will have all any additional assets General Strauch's black ops can provide, as well as our own considerable forces."

The general seemed to hesitate, then slowly nodded, his dislike of the mercenary overcome by the mission at hand. "Yes. Whatever you need."

"You just gave me a down payment. Nice as youth is, I require additional payment for any work I do." Slade finally said.

Waller leaned back in her chair, clearly pleased. "Name your price."

The mercenary _humphed_ dismissively. "I may have a young body now, but I'm still an 'old man.' I have all the money I need, plenty of nice houses, cars. There's nothing you can give me."

Waller was puzzled. "What do you want then?"

Slade replied flatly. "I want Wonder Woman."

Waller frowned. She had not expected this. "I…don't understand you."

"My price is very simple: I want Wonder Woman," Wilson repeated, as if to a kid. "That's all you need to know. I will deliver you Superman, dead or alive, your choice. I imagine you may want him alive, so the General's boys can play with him, like Lane's did. I can throw in another Justice League member or two in the deal, if you want. But I get to keep Wonder Woman, no questions asked. That's non-negotiable."

Waller tried to conceal her distaste at Slade's request. She couldn't imagine what a creature like Deathstroke would want with Wonder Woman, and she didn't want to. Still…if that was the price…she glanced at Fenderbrake, who gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Very well," she finally said. "As long as you can complete your mission."

Slade Wilson – Deathstroke the Terminator – stood up and made to leave as without another word, but he paused to throw over his shoulder:

"Miss Waller – I _always_ complete my mission."

 _To be continued…._

* * *

 **[A/N: Argh, that evil Amanda Waller! I hope she is that evil in Suicide Squad, haha. I had this idea for Deathstroke, and hope this will create some suspense - what is he up to? It will have to wait, though, up next is Batman and Zatanna. Please review!]**


	6. Chapter 6 - Family History

**Chapter 6 – Family History**

 _Gotham City_

Perched on a ledge barely wide enough for the crows that frequented the skies above the city, the Dark Knight waited, observing the streets far below. No one saw him – Gotham City residents kept their eyes firmly focused on the ground, for fear that making eye contact with others could provoke a demented person to violence. Violence was no stranger to Gotham.

If anyone had looked up, they might have mistaken him for one of the stone gargoyles that decorated the city's historic buildings, so silent and still was he. But in any case there were few people out on this chill evening, and no one in the neighborhood he was currently visiting.

Batman had already had a busy night. An arms deal fixed by the Gotham branch of the Crips, and the Chinese Triad mob had gone south when he interrupted their little meeting. Their consignment of ordnance had gone up in flames, with members of both sides left battered and broken, ready for the cops to scrape them off the pavement. Following that, a punk stick-up artist's once-promising career was now sidelined, thanks to a broken arm, a result of unwisely rejecting advice to find a new line of work. No doubt, Batman thought, the punk would complain that he was the 'real' victim in all this.

Complaints by social justice groups in Gotham opposed to the Batman and his methods hardly concerned Bruce at this moment. He was waiting for a certain individual to make his appearance outside the entrance of Frome's Antiquarian and Rare Books. It was hardly his usual stakeout, but after certain inquiries he had been led here, and he was not going to leave until he got the information he wanted.

A portly, middle-aged man stepped out of the bookshop, locking the door behind him. He pulled the lapels of his coat tightly, in a hurry to get into his battered Ford Focus and back to his solitary apartment.

Before he could take another step towards his car parked on the curb, something dropped from a great height in front of him, and he recoiled. At first, he thought something had fallen from the roof, then to his shock, he realized it was a _person,_ cloaked in the darkness.

"Who are you?" The man gasped.

In response, Batman stepped further into the light, giving the bookseller a better view of him. It provoked a suitable reaction, since the man blanched, noticeable even in the dark.

"Why, you're the...what-what do you want from me? I…I don't have any money…"

"I don't want your money," Bruce rasped. He wondered how half the ordinary citizens of Gotham still thought he was some sort of mugger. "What I want from you is information."

"'Information?'" The man repeated stupidly. He still seemed dazed at the presence of the Batman in front of him."Hey, I just run a bookstore, nothing special!"

"Your bookstore specializes in out-of-print and rare books, not paperback romance novels," Batman said impatiently. "I want to talk to you about a certain rare book. Open your door and let's go inside. Our business is better conducted in private," he added, although there was no one on the street.

The man was more than ready to comply - he nervously opened the door again and re-entered. He turned on the lights, letting a harsh fluorescent glare to the sloppily organized stacked shelves of books. He led the Batman to his tiny cramped office behind the register.

"Um…look, I run a legitimate business here, I haven't done anything wrong. What do you want?"

"I'm not interested in your 'business,' just one particular transaction," Batman interrupted brusquely. "Two months ago you sold a book entitled the _Necronomicon_. I want to know to whom you sold it to."

The store-owner's eyes widened. "Wh-what? Listen, all my sales are confidential…I can't just..."

"You went to some trouble to sell this particular book, I understand. You made the sum of $100,000, a bargain for the buyer, considering its rarity," Batman's eyes narrowed behind his cowl. "I understand that this particular copy's provenance includes Miskatonic University, where it was reported missing and presumed stolen in 1984."

"What? No, I don't know nothing about that!"

The Batman just stared at him with his hooded eyes.

"I didn't steal it!" The man insisted more desperately. "I mean, it was just in a consignment of books I bought in bulk from an estate sale. That's how I get my stock. I didn't know where it came from. I can't check every book's background. I'm no crook!"

"Why did you sell it so cheaply?" Batman demanded.

Another blank stare from this guy, he thought, and he would give him something to look stupid about.

"That book is one of the rarest books there are. There are only a handful of copies of the _Necronomicon_ in the world," Batman snapped. "Each one of them could be considered priceless. You could have gotten quadruple the price, at least."

"But…it's just an astronomical treatise!" The man insisted. "It's just some old medieval text about demons, the universe, some weird religious crap like that. I mean, it's not like it's an original Shakespeare or Gutenburg Bible. I couldn't imagine anyone would buy it. I thought I'd hit the jackpot just getting the hundred grand for it."

"You never read it yourself?" At least, Bruce thought, he hadn't tried to _use_ the book. That was a relief.

"Hell no, I just sell the books, I don't read 'em. This was my late brother's business and he wanted it to kept in the family, and I thought it would supplement my retirement income from the dockworkers' union, that's what I really do, did, I mean. I'm trying to make an honest living as best as I can. I'm not 'fencing' or shit like that, if that's what you're thinking."

Batman knew that that was not quite true, but he ignored it for now. "Who did you sell it to?"

"It was a mail-order purchase. Most of my business is online sales. I never saw the buyer myself. Look, as to why I sold it 'cheaply' you try selling books! Everything's on Kindle, there's no money in this business, don't know why I keep on doing it. So, I tried selling it to a couple of collectors, people who'll buy anything if it's old, and they wouldn't touch it. Said it was bad luck, and I should just burn it. Hell, maybe it's true. Ever since I've hard it I've I had a couple of break-ins, and my Internet kept cutting out in here, switched companies but it kept happening, and sales going down. Bad luck like that. So when I got finally got contacted by a buyer, I took his first offer. Not good business practice I know but at least it'll pay my business taxes, and I got kids in college too...hey, um, if you're interested in owning a business yourself Mr. Batman, I don't know who you are at home but hey..."

Batman decided he had best get out of here while his sanity was intact. "You have the invoice?"

Mr. Frome was more than happy to give it up without further ado, he was in a hurry to get his strange guest to leave. As he guessed, like most people in this profession, he still used paper.

"Is this all you need?" He said, not able to hide the note of desperate pleading in his voice.

Batman examined the bill of sale. Listed on the flimsy form was the price of the book, and an address in the city of Taos, New Mexico to where it was to be shipped via FedEx. The name of the buyer was a Mr. Lee Baldwin. No phone number or email. The information did not trigger any particular clues for him.

"Yes, this is what I need. Thank you for your cooperation."

"Uh, I just have a question of my own?" the man said timidly as Bruce turned to leave. "Why…why are you so interested in the _Necronomicon_? It's just some old occult book."

"Books have power, any book," Bruce glared at him. "A man in your line of work should know."

The man clearly didn't – Bruce successfully guessed he would probably be going out of business soon, and would decide that quiet retirement would be best.

* * *

 _Wayne Manor, Later_

"I trust you had a productive evening, Master Bruce?"

Bruce just grunted in response as he removed his torso armor, a habit Alfred always disliked. "Productive enough. At least there will be a few less bombs and sniper rifles in the hands of the gangbangers this month."

He handed Alfred the invoice. "See if you can trace the person named on this bill of sale."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "A one Mr. Lee Baldwin. It doesn't ring a bell I believe. Where should I begin searching?"

"Buyers of rare books. Known occultists. Suspected terrorist affiliations, the usual. Run everything."

"Are you still on the book hunt, sir?" There was a hint of disapproval in his tone, Bruce noticed. "I already thought you had amassed an adequate collection."

"Not adequate enough," Bruce replied shortly. "I know you find these...items distasteful, Alfred, but they're necessary tools in this war."

"'War,' sir? I wasn't aware of a declaration."

"The declaration was made some time ago, ever since Themyscira, and we've been asleep at the wheel, I think. I need to get up to speed."

"That reminds me, sir: Miss Zatanna called for you," Alfred informed him. "Something about a 'dinner date.'"

Bruce grunted again. "Oh, that's right, that's tomorrow. I almost forgot about it. She'll be dining at the Manor around 6pm, prepare whatever's on the menu for this week. I'll call her back. If she calls again-"

"I'm glad to see that in the midst of this war you still can make time for a social life," his butler replied dryly. "Miss Zatanna seems quite a nice young lady, if rather provocative in her choice of couture..."

"Just get started on the name, Alfred!"

"At once, sir."

Bruce sighed as Alfred left the Batcave. He thought for a moment, then went to a certain cabinet near his workstation. He had recently relocated it from the library in the Manor, the Batcave would be a more secure location for them.

Alfred was correct - he had assembled a small yet substantial collection of occult books during his career. Actually, most of them were fairly dull and pedestrian as far as occult books went: works on witchcraft, voodoo and Satanism, bound in black leather or human skin. He had taken them off criminals who either genuinely believed, or had pretended to believe, in 'black magic' in order to generate fear in their victims. Some gangs capitalized on that. It was better they were off the streets and away from impressionable minds.

His most recent acquisitions, however, were not those gaudy books but a handful of nondescript items, unimpressive at first sight, although the price of their acquisition certainly wasn't. He carefully separated them from the others, and laid them out before him. He sat in front of them for awhile, contemplating them silently. He then picked one up, carefully, handling it as it they were the the most fragile of Chinese porcelain...or volatile dynamite.

 _Cultes des Goules._ A thin volume bound in calfskin, no publisher listed; Bruce thought it looked to be privately bound. Authorship was attributed to a Madame de Vezelay, an obscure French noblewoman of the 16th-century. Written in medieval French, it purportedly dealt with the customs of rituals of a Europe-wide cult that believed necrophagia the key to eternal life.

 _Cult of the Ghouls_ , Bruce thought. He wasn't surprised that he was not the first human with intimate knowledge of those creatures. He resolved to learn more about them, much more. Richard Upton Pickman flashed in his mind with an accompanying sense of revulsion. He put it aside and picked up the next book.

 _The Ponape Scripture._ Much cruder in design than the first book; it had accordion-style folded pages held together with twine tied through holes punched in red wooden boards. Scrawled on the brittle pages were hieroglyphs of a kind which did not match any known script. Several sheets of paper were tucked within the book;an account of their discovery, written in English, by a 19th-century ship's captain named Hoag. He had claimed he had copied the strange writing, which he found carved on ancient ruins on an uncharted island in the south Pacific. Hoag's account was disjointed and mostly incoherent, full of Biblical allusions; he claimed that the writing was the language of strange gods worshipped by the long-deceased natives of the island.

Bruce had done some background research on Captain Hoag and learned that the Kingsport sailor had had a reputation as a deranged alcoholic following his voyages to the South Seas and had eventually died of _delirium tremens_ in a gutter. Of the mysterious island and its ruins Hoag had claimed to discover, it was never conclusively identified, although some later readers assumed the island and its ruins to be Ponape and Nan Madol, although no such hieroglyphs were found there. Therefore, it was assumed the old whaler had made the story up in some liquor-induced fit.

Only, Bruce thought, he had seen those same hieroglyphs before...when he was in Pnakoutos. Hoag had not made them up. It was the Aklo writing, perhaps a complete alphabet. He needed to decipher it. He wanted Zatanna's help but he knew she was extremely reluctant to do so. Well, he would have to be more persuasive. He set the fragile book aside, and turned to the last volume in his collection.

 _De Vermis Mysteriis._ Of the books he had collected so far, this was the rarest and which had cost him the most, the equivalent of the upkeep of Wayne Manor for a year. Handsomely bound in leather with gilt edges, supposedly there were less than ten copes extant. Attributed to one Ludwig Prinn, a rogue German Templar and occultist according to the story, which quite probably was mostly bullshit, in his opinion. Bruce had not delved into depth into the book, which was written in a mix of old Latin and High German. He wasn't even sure of its contents: Zatanna had warned him not to "muck about with it" which according to her was not to read, touch, or even look at it, of which he was doing the last two right now. He would at least obey her order not to read it...yet. Perhaps it was his imagination, but holding the tome in his hands, he thought he could almost _feel_ its power. This book might hold the answers to questions he had not formulated yet.

In addition to these books, he had other materials - letters, monographs, pamphlets - that hinted at another world, another dimension, glimpsed at by occultists, adventurers, drug-addicts and the like, who spoke of the _things_ that populated that dimension. Some had learned to access it, much to their regret. There were other stories that that other world could make itself manifest, somehow, in certain places and certain times, but so far all he had to go on were fragments, bits and pieces with only the most tenuous thread connecting them. It wasn't enough: Bruce wanted to know about this threat, _had_ to, no matter what Zatanna said.

Zatanna returned to his mind. A strange blend of emotions swirled through him when she did, and when he thought of her, he thought of other things other than her potential knowledge. Her face swam up in his mind, the feel of her body against his. She had become a need to him, something he found both agreeable and disquieting at the same time. He hadn't been with a woman for a long time, and after Selina's last scenes, thought that was for the best. He was too busy with his business obligations and the Justice League, he did not have time for any 'romantic' entanglements. He wasn't quite sure what his 'entanglement' with Zatanna might be, only that he often found himself eager to see her. Despite that, he tried to keep his distance from her on the Watchtower, without looking as if he was doing so, only behaving as he usually did, at his most professional. To his relief, Zatanna didn't try to flirt with him there. Still, he couldn't help but think that the other members were beginning to suspect.

Bruce pushed that from his mind. The last thing he needed to concern himself with was with what other people thought of him and Zatanna. He focused his thoughts back on her, and her history.

It was evident that Zatanna had some familiarity with their enemy, although this familiarity caused her distress. She had mentioned a grandfather who had trafficked with such forces; other than that, it was evident she was reluctant to talk about that. But he had learned some things, and despite her reluctance, Bruce resolved, he had to get Zatanna to be more open about what she knew. It was frustrating to him that they knew so _little_. Then there was Amanda Waller and A.R.G.U.S. Bruce was certain that they had their own sources of information, and somehow it was all connected to Waller's adviser, this Dr. Fenderbrake. He resolved to have a little meeting with him...

Another thought came to his mind, startling in its unexpectedness.

 _Randolph Carter. He can be your ally. He can be your teacher in this._

That was absurd, Bruce thought. Carter was in the Dreamlands, and there was no way he knew to return, anymore than Diana could return to Themyscira. He wouldn't know how to contact him again, even if he had wanted to. As far as he was concerned, although he was a distant relative, the man was deceptive and dangerous. Still...if it was possible...

 _How did Carter get to the Dreamlands? He_ dreamed. _You can do the same._

"But I haven't dreamed," Bruce muttered aloud, unaware he was doing so. "Not at all. Not since..."

Not since at least Themyscira. At least he hadn't remembered. Some of his memories, he knew, had become hazy. He had only the barest memory - perceptions, really - of his penetration of the alien city of Carcosa. Superman, he knew from his debriefings, did not remember it at all. But something had happened to him there. He had been _changed_.

Bruce slammed a first on the table, and the Batcave echoed with the sudden noise in the silence. He forced himself to calm down. Nothing would be accomplished by him being frustrated. He had to think logically and rationally, otherwise they'd be back at square one. He resolved, then, to make this investigation a priority. One way or the other, Zatanna would tell him what he needed to know.

* * *

 _The Next Day_

"Ah. Good evening, Miss Zatanna. A pleasure to see you again."

Zatanna hoped that was true. She thought Bruce's butler (or valet? manservant? She wasn't sure what the correct word was) was probably one of the most inscrutable people she had ever met. He also a way of making her feel like she was ten years old. But he was smiling down at her pleasantly, holding the door open for her.

"Hi Alfred," She smiled awkwardly. It's good to see you again too."

Zatanna had changed out of her magician's costume into what (she hoped) was a very nice ensemble, courtesy of Zuhair Murad: a scarlet red skirt, short black leather jacket and short high-heeled black boots. Around her neck was the gold necklace she had found in her dressing room.

"Ah, I see you are wearing Master Bruce's present," Alfred said. "He will be very happy to see that you like it."

"Um, sure," Zatanna had her own questions about that. "I want to thank him in person."

 _Yesterday, she was running a little late to her own rehearsal, thanks to the traffic blocking the Muni trolley. When she arrived at her studio, her eyes widened in surprise. It seemed every available free space was occupied by bouquets of colorful flowers._

 _"Whoa, what happened here? It looks like a florist's exploded! Who died?" Zatanna had wondered. Then she saw her entire staff staring at her._

 _"Maybe your innocence?" Her assistant, Mikail, a slender and very flamboyant gay man, replied snarkily. "Flowers and food oh my!"_

 _She saw he holding a basket of muffins, still smelling fresh baked, and that the other members of her staff were munching on more. "These arrived this morning with the flowers. Dozens of them! They're heavenly! Keep blowing your new boyfriend is all I can say!"_

 _Zatanna flipped him the bird. "I don't have a new boyfriend!"_

 _"Oh yeah?"_

 _Her manager, Charly, handed her her iPad. "You better take a look at this, then tell us."_

 _Zatanna saw that it was opened on a well-known Internet celebrity Web site. She saw there were four pictures of her and Bruce Wayne: walking on a sidewalk, getting into his car. Bruce was staring stoically ahead, while she was smiling. Was there a cameraman there the last time they went out? She couldn't remember. The caption read:_

 _"Is the Mistress of Magic now a Mistress of a Billionaire? You Be The Judge!"_

 _"Oh, this," Zatanna knew that this would eventually happen. "No...we're just friends."_

 _"Friends with benefits!" Mikail laughed._

 _A thought came to Zatanna: beware of bats bearing gifts. What was the old fart doing? She knew he wasn't the flowers-kind-of-guy - what was he up to?_

 _"There's more," Charly said. "Go look in your dressing room."_

 _"What?"_

 _As she entered her dressing room she saw it: a beautiful lacquered box sitting on her table. She touched the lid gingerly._

 _"Should I call the bomb squad?" Mikail said, only half-jokingly._

 _She shook her head in exasperation and opened it. She immediately caught glint of gold. She picked up the necklace, and saw it consisted of links of elaborately-worked serpents, and she realized it was modeled after her serpent tattoo. It was beautiful and although she wasn't a connoisseur of jewelry, knew that it must have cost a fortune._

 _Zatanna turned around, saw that virtually her entire staff was behind her, staring. They oohed and aahed when they saw it. "Try it on!" Not knowing what else to do, she did. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she had to admit it looked very good on her._

 _"Just 'friends,' eh?" Charly said._

 _"No! I mean, we've only seen each other a couple of times, but..." Zatanna knew she sounded lame._

 _"This can only be good press for your Gotham tour," Mikail said, ever mindful of the business. "The local press will eat it up!"_

 _"I don't know," Charly murmured._

 _"What don't you know?"_ _Mikail said airily._

 _"Bruce Wayne has a reputation in Gotham," Charly said. "Not really a good one."_

 _Mikail flapped his hand in dismissal. "Just because he's a playboy? Even I've heard that. Big deal!"_

 _"You do know his parents were murdered when he was a kid, don't you? Supposedly, his dad did shady dealings with a Mafia chief, and his parents got whacked as a result. I heard he went insane, and had to be institutionalized for years, somewhere out of the country. Who knows what happened to him? When he came back, all he was into partying, making money."_

 _"It's true, I have an ex-husband who lives in Gotham," one of Zatanna's costume aides added. "He read an article about it by that TV show host, Vicki Vale, how this Bruce Wayne is just burning through his company's money, blows it on hookers and toys. Not only that, but Vale used to date him, she wrote a tell-all, how he had dark moods and would get into fights, sounds like he has a really bad temper. Also, she hinted may be into criminal stuff too, just like his old man!"_

 _"Ooh, a scandal!" Mikail sounded delighted at the idea, not fazed at all. "Well, get some of that Wayne money before it all goes up in flames!"_

 _"I'm being serious," Charly said darkly. "Zatanna, I don't think you should be seen with him. Someone whose love life consists of escort hookers isn't boyfriend material."_

 _"Let's just get on with rehearsing!" Zatanna said desperately. She had wanted to challenge everyone's perception but she couldn't tell the truth as much as she wanted to. It was still Bruce's secret. His cover story had taken a life of its own. "Never mind my love life."_

"Master Bruce is awaiting you in the dining room," Alfred said. "He's been very anxious to see you all day."

 _I'll bet,_ she thought.

The 'dining room' of Wayne Manor was capable of hosting up to 50 guests, hardly an intimate dinner, Zatanna thought. Chandeliers of baccarat crystal hung from the ceiling, oil paintings of European landscapes hung on the walls, and she couldn't imagine spilling anything on the carpet.

"Miss Zatanna," Alfred announced as they entered.

Bruce turned around from where he had been gazing out one of the large rectangular windows on the east wall. He was casually dressed, in a Dior knit sweater and woolen trousers, very much the executive at leisure, Zatanna thought.

"Zee, I'm so glad you were able to come tonight," Bruce smiled. His eyes fell on the necklace. "I hope I didn't create too much of a scene at your work."

 _That's exactly what you were hoping for,_ she thought. "No, no, everyone liked the flowers and the muffins," she said, which was true. "Um...thank you for the necklace, but you didn't need to-"

"It occurred to me I didn't properly thank you for saving my life," Bruce said. "I'm glad you like it."

Zatanna blushed. Bruce sounded very sincere. "Yes, but-"

"Dinner is ready, sir," Alfred announced. "Shall I bring in the first course now?"

"Certainly."

He gestured for Zatanna to sit, and she saw that at least they would be sitting next to each other at the table, at least not at the opposite ends. As Alfred brought in the salad, she couldn't help feeling that there was something else going on. But as the 'main course was served - a whole roast duck stuffed with sage and onions and served with a cherry dressing - Bruce avoided talking about anything 'serious' limiting himself to his latest research project at his company (manned spaceflight, to compete with SpaceX) and he asked her about her magic show.

"I have some new illusions I may try," she said. "Plus I'm going to tune up my burlesque act, the one you saw. Oh, did you know, I was approached by the producers of the _Titans Against Rome_ franchise?"

"Really?" Bruce said politely. He hated those movies. "Are you going to be in the next one?"

Zatanna laughed. "They offered me a small role, as a sorceress, big surprise right? But then when I read the role, they wanted to put me in demon makeup! No thanks, I'm not going to sit for five hours so they can slap latex on me."

Bruce nodded. "How do you like the duck?"

"It's very good. It's more than I could eat in the week, I'm done," Zatanna said truthfully.

"I thought we could go sit in the study for the dessert," Bruce said. "Coffee, too, if you'd like."

"Sure," Zatanna replied, and she thought: _Here it comes._

Alfred brought in the coffee and tiramisu on a tray while Bruce stoked up the fire in the fireplace. He set it down by Zatanna. "Is there anything else I can get you, Miss?"

"No, thank you, Alfred, everything's been wonderful."

She stared at the elderly butler, as if she could glean a clue from the man, but he had his English poker face well on. He gave her another pleasant smile and with a "Master Bruce, Miss Zatanna," left the two of them alone.

"Our pictures are in the paper, you know," Zatanna said. "Why did you send all that to my studio, really?"

His back still to her, he replied: "I don't think you'd mind a little press. Your stage crew appreciated the flowers and the food, I'm sure, I used the best caterer in San Francisco. Having them like me wouldn't hurt, since we're working together anyway. As for the necklace," he added quietly. "I don't often get a chance to give gifts. I hope you weren't offended."

"No!" A flustered Zatanna said. "I only meant, I mean, I just didn't think-"

"I'd be the type to give presents?"

Bruce stood up and turned around, his face almost as inscrutable as Alfred's. "I have emotions like other men, Zee, it's not often I get a chance to show them, my real emotions, not when I'm playing Mr. Bruce Wayne the Billionaire. The necklace was for real."

Zatanna felt a stab of guilt, then. "Bruce, I only meant that...of course I know you have emotions. Only an idiot would think you don't."

"Hm. There are lots of idiots in the world," he shrugged. He sat next to her, lightly brushed his fingertips against her neck, below the gold. It felt like fire. "I'm not one of them."

Zatanna curled her fingers around Bruce's hand. "I'm not either, Bruce," she whispered, looking into his eyes. "I know you have something on your mind."

"I thought we could talk a little about a certain project I'm working on, and which I'd like you to be involved in too."

Zatanna stiffened. This was what she had been afraid of. "Bruce, I've told you before-"

"You're still in danger aren't you?" Bruce interrupted. "You told me before you felt like you were being watched."

"It's not...no, nothing's happened."

She tried to pull her hand away, but he held onto her. He spoke quickly.

"You still have magickal enemies, people who still want revenge for your grandfather's misdeeds or who had been brought to justice by your father. Or people who think you have the same powers and knowledge Zkauba Zatara did. That's true, isn't it?"

"I can handle them," Zatanna said firmly. "That's none of your business!"

"What's happened in the past two years, that's another challenge for the Justice League, it involves all of us. That makes it _my_ business, _our_ business."

Zatanna abruptly stood up. "Thank you for the dinner, Bruce," she said tightly. "But I think I'm going home now. I should have known-"

"There is no entry in the criminal database for Zkauba Zatara," Bruce said quickly, before she could say anything more. "But there was a man named Guido Zatara, who was employed as a minor functionary in Benito Mussolini's Fascist government. He was tasked with a department similar to the Nazi _Ahnernebe._ Unlike the Ahnernebe he actually found the proof he was looking for. He followed _Il Duce_ to his Republic of Salo, where he disappeared after the Allied liberation. I imagine no one wants a fascist in their family tree, much less one accused of terrible atrocities."

Zatanna glared at him but didn't speak. He wasn't deterred by the anger in her expression.

"I know that Amanda Waller has redirected the energies of A.R.G.U.S. into the same research as your grandfather. What I don't know is how far they've gotten in the game. Fairly far, judging from what they've been able to do so far."

"It's not a game, Bruce," Zatanna hissed.

"I _know_ that, and I also know that your grandfather's crimes left a terrible mark on your father-"

"You don't know!" She cried. "No one knows...even knows now, how many people he murdered, what he tried to do. Even Father didn't. Only that all his life people blamed him, even tried to kill him-"

"And you," Bruce finished quietly. "Your Father protected you. That was a noble thing."

"Bruce..."

"Zee, your Father fought against this...this Outer Darkness as you call it, tried to protect you from it. Now, other evil people are trying to use it. We have to stop them."

"This is not like your Gotham crimefighting, Bruce," Zee said after a long moment. The anger had drained from her voice, leaving only a sad weariness, older than her years, Bruce thought. "My Father died before his time, this I'll always believe, because of the toll it too on his life and soul."

Zatanna stared at him pleadingly. "That's what this does, Bruce! It's evil...I know you're no stranger to terrible things, but this is different. You know that, I know you do! What my grandfather did, that's my burden."

"You don't have to do this alone, Zee. I want to be with you. I need you," Bruce admitted. "In more ways than one, it seems."

She shook her head. "Bruce, please..."

"I have a lead on one of Waller's assistants, a Dr. August Fenderbrake. He was there when we were captured and brought to Pnakoutos, the old man in the doctor's coat, do you remember?"

"I try not to."

"He's one of Waller's senior advisers, I believe. There's nothing in his background that's related in any way to metahumans or anything criminal, that I can uncover. Yet, I have my suspicions. I felt it."

Zatanna said nothing, just looked at him with dark eyes.

"I know my limitations, Zee. That's why I am asking you for help."

Zatanna thought that that was one of Bruce's boldfaced lies - he really didn't believe he had limitations, and tell Bruce something that he couldn't do and it was as good as done. He would plunge straight into the darkness, heedless of anything she said. He had done it before, starting as a child. Darkness was his destiny, and destiny, Madame Xanadu always said, was unalterable. If she had any brains, she thought, she would just up and leave, leave Bruce, the Justice League, try to be more like Baron Winters wanted her to be...

Zatanna sat back down, reluctantly. "What are you planning to do?"

"I'm going to have a little talk with the good doctor," Bruce said, knowing he'd won. "I want you to come with me."

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **[A/N: Zatanna was right - beware Batman bearing gifts, lol! Batman and Zatanna are on the case...but Zatanna has her doubts. Is Bruce biting off more than he can chew? You will see, dear readers. BTW, can't wait to see the new animated Justice League Dark! All the new trailers for WW and Justice League look great too! The action will continue next chapter...thank you for reading and all the reviews, keep them coming!]**


	7. Chapter 7 - More Family History

**Chapter 7 – More Family History**

 _The Alighieri, San Francisco_

The fortuneteller sighed as her last client of the day finally left her curtained booth. She doubted the young lady would take seriously her advice to clean up her act and get sober, but she hoped anyway. Hope, it seemed, was one of the last few things that didn't cost money in this world.

The store's bearded manager poked his head in through the booth's beaded curtain. "All done, Madame Xanadu?"

"All done, Joe. I know we went over an hour. I'm sorry I've kept you."

"Oh there's no problem. It's been a quiet day, anyway. But there's someone else here to see you."

She frowned. "Is it who I think it is?"

"Now is that any way to talk about your favorite nightmare-imp?" Fuselli edged his way past the manager's big legs. "I promise I'm not asking for money."

"Good, because you not getting any," Xanadu humphed, as she collected the scattered tarot cards on the table in front of her.

"I'll leave you two to your, um, business," Joe said and left quickly.

"What have you been up to, Fuselli?" Xanadu eyed the imp warily; although he now possessed the appearance of a human dwarf, she did not for a moment forget what he really was.

"I paid a visit to our old friend Constantine," he replied cheerfully. "He's still locked up at Ravenscar, snug as a bedbug."

"He was never an old friend," Xanadu corrected testily. "I don't know why you visited him – did Zatanna ask you do to that?"

"Not exactly. She did give me his private notebook, which was written in some kind of code, and asked if I could decipher it. She had some idea it might hold a clue as to what he was trying to do, and who he was associating with when he was doing it."

"Hmm," Xanadu was aware that Constantine had been left in a catatonic state due to his own foolish meddling with the power of the Outer Darkness. She had never liked the man and had tried to warn Zatanna away from him, much good that it did. Sometimes children had to learn the hard way. "Did you crack the code?"

"Not exactly, not yet," Fuselli frowned. "But I did some investigating of my own and I think there is more to the story than meets the eye: I don't think Constantine's condition was an accident-"

"Never mind that," Xanadu said impatiently. "That is not what I want to talk to you about."

Fuselli heaved himself up into the plush velvet chair reserved for Xanadu's customers. He had a good idea what she wanted to talk about.

"By the way, have you been watching the celebrity news?" He asked casually instead.

"You know I don't bother myself with that rubbish."

"Oh, I think you'll like this," Fuselli announced with a grin. He produced his smartphone from his jacket and pushed it across the glass table.

Xanadu stared at it. "Some ridiculous gossip site, I see, with pictures of Zatanna and Bruce Wayne getting into a car. What kind of 'news' is this?"

"Well it looks like our power couple is getting serious! Or as serious as Zatanna ever gets, anyway. I figured that was what you wanted to talk about."

"You are most perceptive," Xanadu said dryly.

"That's only one of my many talents," Fuselli shrugged. "I know you don't like Bruce Wayne. Why don't you just get rid of him? Oh, I know Zatanna wouldn't like it but so what?"

"It's not that simple, fool, and also because I know Zatanna will not end her relationship with this man, no matter what I say. There is some attraction there that goes beyond the physical."

"Really, you mean beyond lots of money, good looks, and sex?"

Xanadu ignored him and re-shuffled her cards. "It is no coincidence that Zatanna's path has crossed with Bruce Wayne's. It has nothing to do with her interest in crimefighting or her reasons for joining this Justice League. There is something more, I believe. Someone or something is propelling her into this."

Fuselli thought he understood. "Perhaps something in the past then? But they've never met each other before?"

"Giovanni performed in Gotham City, when Zatanna was a child, that much I know," Xanadu said slowly. "Only once, for an orphanage. He never talked about it, it wasn't anything unusual."

Fuselli thought aloud. "So...Wayne would have been orphaned then. You think their paths crossed back then? They would have been kids, if they even remember. That would have to be some coincidence! But that doesn't mean anything, even if they did."

"No," Xanadu agreed. "And yet…even that encounter itself...it must have had _some_ cause in the past. I feel it, and the cards suggest as much."

She spread them out in accordion pattern on the table. Fuselli didn't see any pattern in the pictures of swords, moons and stars, but he wasn't as knowledgeable as the ancient sorceress, and it was evident that what she saw bothered her.

"I _must_ know more," Xanadu said after a tense moment. "Baron Winters won't lift a finger. You must help me in this."

"I thought you were of the opinion that there was nothing to be done?"

Xanadu shook her head forcefully. Clearly, the imp thought, she was attached very much to Zatanna. "Focus your efforts on Wayne's mind, his dreams, both his and Zatanna's. I want to know what he's planning."

Fuselli sighed. "I told you before I couldn't see anything in Wayne's mind. As for Zatanna…" He spread his arms. "Look at what happened to me the last time I interfered in her dreams!"

"You look very handsome, such as you are. Anyway, you are a nightmare-imp. You will find a way," Xanadu said confidently. Seeing his doubtful face, she added. "This is Zatanna's life and soul in danger. I know you may not like her, but do it for me, if nothing else."

Xanadu sighed again. "I can return you to your original form, if you like?"

"Well I may prefer this form after all, but I'll do what I can, if you think it will do any good."

"I don't know about 'good,'" Xanadu said gravely. "Yet, perhaps, we may be able to save her."

"And…Bruce Wayne?"

She sat back in her chair. "As for him…I am not so sure."

* * *

 _Wayne Manor_

Bruce awoke suddenly, his mouth agape but no sound came out. His body arched as if jolted by a shot of electricity, the thin bedsheet slipping half off his body as he did so. It took him another second to realize where he was - then, his body relaxed in a supine position. He breathed heavily, lying on his back. He saw that he was in his own bedroom, surrounded by his familiar things. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, broken by a stream of moonlight coming through the half-open drapes. After another second, coherent thought returned to him.

 _A dream,_ he thought with bewilderment. _A...a nightmare?_

Only seconds after awakening but already he could not remember what he had dreamed of. He had the slightly nauseating feeling of _deja vu_ , of something similar happening a few nights ago. His muscles still thrummed as if he'd been struggling with someone in his dream...had he been? He had the disquieting feeling that he had narrowly escaped something, or someone. His heart was pounding as if he had been running. But he couldn't remember what he dreamed of.

 _Absurd,_ Bruce thought, irritation replacing the confusion. _Too many busy and stressful nights. That's all. It was bound to happen again. Only..._

Tonight hadn't been stressful at all, at least, not after Zatanna had acquiesced to his plan (albeit with some reluctance). She had soon changed the topic, and they had talked of much pleasanter things. Much more pleasant. She'd asked him if he would like to see her revised dance moves to her burlesque show and he had said he would very much like that. So she had performed her dance (more like a striptease, if truth were told) and he had admired it very much - she really did have a talent for dance, as well as magic, he'd thought. He hadn't let her finish, and he hadn't felt more relaxed than he had been than tonight, thanks to her.

He also remembered he wasn't alone in the room. Zatanna lay beside him. This was the first time she had spent the night with him at the Manor, Bruce realized. She slept peacefully, undisturbed by his thrashing. She lay on her back naked, save for his gift, which glinted goldenly against her white skin in the thin moonlight. Her long black hair was spread out beneath her. Her dancing had stirred appetites in him that he hadn't acknowledged for some time. At times he was afraid he might hurt her, especially when she cried out so hard it sounded like sobs, but she had never stopped him.

Bruce watched her for a long time. Zatanna didn't stir, but continued to sleep on. After awhile he slowly reached out and touched the skin of her neck, stroking gently with his fingertips. He'd been relieved she'd liked his gift; it had taken him ages to make up his mind to give it to her. He hadn't done anything quite like this before. He knew how'd Selina would have reacted if he'd given her this type of thing (depending on if she was 'up' or 'down' or off her meds), she would have probably thrown it back in his face and accuse him of 'trying to buy her.' Hell, she'd do that if he bought her a latte. Vicki, despite her tasteful TV show host appearance, was at heart a hippie chick and didn't care for such things. As for Talia…the less he thought about her the better.

No, Zatanna was like no woman he'd ever met before. A magician of incredible power, he'd known that the first time he'd met her. Possibly, she was potentially more powerful than anyone else in the Justice League, Superman included, since he was vulnerable to magic. Yet she was vulnerable too, especially if taken by surprise, as he'd seen in the California desert. Despite that, he wouldn't forget how dangerous she could be.

Dangerous...yes. That odd feeling of _deja vu_ came again, and it triggered just the faintest recollection of his dream. He'd been pursuing something in the dark, and found it...then he'd fled. Yes, that was the substance of the dream-nightmare. He'd been frightened of something...

 _Zatanna?_

No, he thought. That couldn't be it. She wouldn't hurt him, he was certain of it. If she wanted to, if she had some ulterior motive, he would have known by now, he was sure.

Bruce continued to stare at her intensely. She was so beautiful as she slept, he thought: she had a dancer's body, muscular yet slender and toned. His eyes drifted to the small dark thatch between her legs, remembered how it had felt when she slipped her legs around his waist. He had tried to be gentle with her, this time, but rather doubted he'd succeeded. She didn't seem to mind, letting him do what he wanted. All his stress and anger seemed to dissipate when he was with her...and yet...

An uninvited thought came to him in the darkness, then: _Why would she want such as you?_

He knew that even to consider such a question pointed to some flaw in his self-perception. He felt it nevertheless. Zatanna with him, and in his bed…there was no reason he could think of, that she would be attracted to him. He wasn't into magic or her world. But she was the one who made the first move, hadn't she? One thing followed another and now here she was, with him, now. He supposed any other man would have rejoiced in catching so fine a woman as Zatanna, so why was he feeling like this?

For his part he felt something for her, but struggled to define what to call it, and he didn't quite know what she really felt for him. Perhaps he really didn't know his own reason for letting Zatanna in.

Annoyed at his own indecision and self-doubt, Bruce got up and went to stand by the window, looking out over the vast garden with its topiary animals behind the Manor. He stood there, naked, arms folded against his massive chest. The moon was out, shining but by this night it would be gone. His mind turned towards work: tonight would be best to implement his plan. If…

"Bruce?"

He let his hands drop slowly to his sides, the only indication that he was startled. He turned to see Zatanna awake and staring at him curiously.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." Bruce said apologetically.

"That's all right."

She rolled over onto her stomach and elbows, every movement accentuating her curves. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he said, grabbing a pair of shorts and pulling them on. "I thought I'd get up, get a workout in. It's almost morning."

"You still lie badly," Zatanna said. "It's three hours till sunup!"

He shrugged. "I get up early. Habit."

"Mmm," Now Zee was smiling at him. She stretched in a luxurious way that revealed what she really wanted. "I could suggest a new habit...or a different type of 'workout.' Come back to bed."

Bruce shook his head. All of a sudden, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. "No...I'm going to go to the gym."

Zatanna sighed and sat up. "If you want. Let me go with you, I wouldn't mind trying out your gym. I couldn't handle your kind of weights but I could do cardio."

"No. I want you rested for the mission today. Go back to sleep."

Before Zatanna could say another word, Bruce walked hurriedly out of his bedroom, all but slamming the door behind him, leaving her surprised and rather indignant. What, she wasn't good enough to work out with him? She may not be as muscular as Wonder Woman or some of the other Justice League ladies, but...

"He had another nightmare. I think you were in it."

Zatanna gasped and nearly toppled out of the bed. She spun to see Fuselli seated cross-legged where Bruce had been sleeping only a short while ago. She leapt out of the bed in a hurry, grabbing the bedsheet and pulling it against her. The imp seemed not at all put out with her surprise and anger, watched her with some amusement.

"Fuselli! What the hell are you doing here?" She shouted.

"Lower your voice, or would you like the butler to walk in on us? My presence would be rather difficult to explain."

"What are you doing here?" Zatanna snarled. "Don't make me ask again!"

"Madame Xanadu asked me to check up on you. She's worried about you."

Zatanna rolled her eyes. "Well you can go back and tell her I'm fine. You can tell her you saw for yourself."

"Lovely man, that Mr. Wayne," Fuselli eyed Zatanna's naked body as she tossed the sheet down and searched for her discarded underwear and bra. "He treats you so well, I can taste the gold from here. I hope it makes up for the bruises. I bet Charly will notice. She doesn't care for him, if you've noticed."

"I don't need your bitchy observations, Fuselli."

"OK, but I think you could use my help. Just in case Mr. Wayne gets a little too intense. I may be wrong but he seems like the intense type."

She stared at him sidelong. "I said I don't need your help, I told you before. I can handle this."

"Oh yes? The way you handled Constantine? Or what happened in Australia?" Fuselli hopped down from the bed and spoke quickly before she could retort. "Listen to me, Zatanna, I know we've had our little differences, but I have to agree with the old broad. Bruce Wayne is nothing but trouble, even more than that crazy Brit I think."

"Is that all?"

Fuselli frowned. This wasn't like the Zatanna that he knew. She'd always been happy to hear the worst about John Constantine, especially after the first - or was it the second? - time he'd cheated on her. Why was she being so defensive about Bruce Wayne?

"Zatanna, come on," Now it was Fuselli's turn to sound frustrated. "Didn't you notice what just happened? He had a nightmare, clearly, but he couldn't remember it. Probably has had more than one. Did you see the way he ran out of here like you had the plague?"

Zatanna frowned, remembering what Fuselli was. "So...that doesn't mean anything. Everyone has nightmares."

"Not like him. He can't remember his nightmares now, whereas before he remembered them all too clearly, his parents being killed and all that. I still can't see them in his mind. Well, maybe a little bit. It started when you started getting _involved_."

"I still don't see why _you_ need to see them." Zatanna searched for her other bits of clothing.

"Bruce Wayne is using you," Fuselli said bluntly. "Yes, I know all this Justice League stuff, still, he's playing with fire. He wants _knowledge_ , you know what kind. He wants your help to get it. He's going to get burned, and burned badly. You wouldn't like your new boyfriend once he's finely charred. I don't think you'd care to be too close either."

"Is that all?"

"Just what are you doing, Zatanna?" It was now Fuselli's turn to sound exasperated. "What exactly do you want with this man?"

The imp suddenly frowned, as if he'd come up with an answer to his own question. "There's something he has that _you_ want, isn't it? There must be something, and I don't think it's a black AMEX card."

"Fuselli...butt out."

The imp scowled as the magician raised her arms, then he remembered: "Wait! That notebook you asked me to-"

" _Enogeb_!"

In a flash of light, the dwarf disappeared. Zatanna's tight expression didn't fade. Sometimes she regretted banishing the imp to the human realm, it seemed like he was even more annoying than before. Not to mention more nosy. But more than once she had even considered confiding in him, only she couldn't trust him to keep his mouth shut. He would run off and blab to Madame Xanadu or worse, to Baron Winters. That was the last thing she wanted. They might try to interfere, and if they did they wouldn't care if Bruce was hurt or not. The elder _homo magii_ often looked at non-magickal humans with haughty disdain, sometimes barely more than animals. If Bruce or any of their friends got in the way, it could be trouble. No, she would not go to them for help. For better or worse, she and Batman would have to face the enemy on their own.

 _Whatever the enemy_ truly _is..._

* * *

 _Watchtower 1300 hours briefing._

"As all of you know, the debacle in Australia was originally engineered by A.R.G.U.S.," Batman told the assembled Justice League in the conference room. "A.R.G.U.S. managed to evacuate their facilities before Pnakoutos was destroyed, with minimal casualties."

Zatanna Zatara sat quietly next to Batman as he droned on, his hands darting around the digital keyboard. She was quite aware that everyone's minds here were half on the briefing, the other half eyeballing her and Bruce and wondering what was up with them. J'onn J'onzz was practically staring at her as if he could read her mind. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She had not been her usual ebullient self today, and she knew that they knew it. She thought Bruce seemed oblivious to the mood in the room as usual, caught up as he was in his presentation.

The image of an imposing-looking black woman hovered in the air above the circular conference table, a standard ID photo. Everyone recognized who it was.

"Amanda Waller was A.R.G.U.S.' Director at that time. She has been very quiet ever since the Pnakoutos destruction. She has not appeared publicly, nor at any governmental hearings, that we are aware of."

"Maybe she got fired," Flash said hopefully. "Maybe she's drawing unemployment, sitting at home watching _The View._ "

"Hardly likely," Bruce's flat voice didn't seem to catch the Flash's attempt at humor. "I have no doubt she continues to serve as its head and is engaged in some other plot. However, Waller' is not the subject of my current investigation."

Another image appeared on the screen, replacing Waller. An older white male, with piercing blue-gray eyes.

"This man is Dr. August Fenderbrake. Existing records indicate he is a physician in the employ of the federal government. He was standing at Waller's side in Pnakoutos. I recognize him and so does Zatanna."

"He's a doctor? Ok..." Flash sounded confused. "Um, so why are we looking at him?"

Batman sat down. "Call it a hunch: I don't recall him speaking but there was something about his demeanor. Very calm and collected. When we breached the entrance of the alien city, he didn't look surprised or frightened, only as someone whose plan was going as expected."

Huntress understood. "You think he's...something more than a doctor?"

"We have very little information on the A.R.G.U.S. hierarchy, Waller's chain-of-command. She must have someone who is advising her on the occult and...other things."

"You think it's this guy?"

"As I said, it's only a hunch. There is nothing in this man's file that would point to anything in black ops, or even to any involvement in the occult."

"Yet you think...because there's nothing suspicious that there is something suspicious?" Oliver Queen sounded skeptical.

"I believe Fenderbrake is Waller's right-hand man," Batman said bluntly. He nodded towards Cyborg. "Victor managed to find his home address. I intend to pay the good doctor a visit. This is the reason for the briefing now. When Zatanna and I investigated the informant in California, we were taken by surprise and captured. I don't intend to be taken unawares this time."

"Well, what if this guy really is just a doctor?" Vixen said.

Batman smiled, something of an unnerving sight, even for the Justice Leaguers. "He has a little scare then, but he won't be harmed. Not if he cooperates. He may even be persuaded to switch employers."

"Sounds like a plan," Oliver finished his soda. "When are we pushing off?"

"It will be just me and Zatanna," Batman replied. "The rest of you will be on backup. Cyborg will monitor our movements."

"Hold on: at the risk of sounding negative," Dinah Lance spoke up. "The last time you two went out, it got a little complicated. Maybe the rest of us need to join you?"

Batman frowned. "No, that's why you're backup. I don't want any civilian attention drawn to us. This time, we'll be prepared."

Flash couldn't help himself. "Umm...why Zatanna? I mean, I would think I could be on the ground, too, if we're just picking this guy for questioning...?"

Batman shot him a stare that ended his other intended inquiry. "Zatanna is trained in magickal detection. We may need it, if I am correct in thinking what Fenderbrake's value to Waller is."

"Let's back up a bit," Hawkgirl said. "What do you think Waller and her flunkies are up to now?"

Zatanna spoke for the first time in the meeting. "The only way Waller would have been able to locate Pnakoutos is if she's messing around with the Outer Darkness. But she's just a government stooge herself, she wouldn't know the first thing about that unless she was getting knowledge and help from somewhere."

"You mean, that weird stuff we were looking at in Batman's library?" Oliver tried to ignore Batman's scowl. "I thought that was just, I mean, hocus-pocus..sorry, Zatanna, I mean the black magic stuff?"

"It's...more than that. More than, um, ordinary black magic," she explained carefully. "The Outer Darkness refers to entities and powers that are beyond the comprehension and power of humanity."

"I get it," Flash said. "So Waller's trying to get control of them?"

"That's what makes Waller so dangerous," Zatanna insisted. "They _can't_ be controlled. Anyone who tries will destroy themselves, and everyone around them."

Hawkman frowned. He sat back in his chair, his arms folded against his massive chest. "Then, how do _you_ know about them, magician?"

At first Zatanna just sat there, not looking at anyone, and not responding, uncharacteristically quiet. Batman was about to reprimand him when she suddenly spoke again.

"You all know that I am from a family of magicians," she said, just loud enough for the others to hear her. "I told some of you about my grandfather. For generations, the Zataras have existed peacefully among ordinary people and the _homo magii._ Until my grandfather, Zkauba Zatara, believed he could harness the powers of the Outer Darkness for his own gain and advancement. He became a worshipper of..."

Zatanna hesitated, and Batman thought she was about to say a name and then reconsidered. "He became of worshipper of these entities, and learned enough to gain mastery of certain powers. To do this, he killed many others who stood in his way or tried to stop him. He killed so many people, including so many _homo magii,_ even members of his own family, that the name of Zatara became associated with evil and hate."

The others could see her wring her hands as she talked, and how difficult it was for her to talk about this.

"At some point, he wanted to do more, not just gain power, but to let these entities into our world, to tear down the barrier that hides our world and dimension from them. It is the only thing that stands between us and annihilation. Yet it became his goal to destroy it."

"Why?" Flash sounded astonished. "Why would he do such a thing? Wouldn't that mean he would die too?"

"Why do evil men do anything?" Batman said sternly.

"Well, someone must have stopped him, because we're all sitting here." Huntress said.

Zatanna nodded. "Yes, he was killed before he could implement his plans. My father told me all this."

"So your father was privy to his plans?" Hawkman sounded accusing, and looked like he didn't believe her story. Hawkgirl glared at her partner but Zatanna didn't seem to notice.

"No...my father never knew him. He was only a baby at the time. He was hidden away by his mother. She knew he would have been used as a sacrifice for his evil plans. It was only after grandfather was dead that he was told what he was. My father devoted his life to making amends for his crimes."

Dinah nodded sadly. "Yes, I remember you told me about him. That was awful, it wasn't the poor man's fault!"

"It doesn't matter, among the _homo magii_. I am telling you this because I want you to know how dangerous this is. If this man and Waller are doing the same thing, we've got to do everything we can to stop them." Zatanna's voice was hard in a way none of them had heard before.

"You don't have to tell us, Zatanna," Hawkgirl reassured her as an uncomfortable murmur spread around the table. "I think after what we've seen so far, we know this is a grave matter."

Different conversations began around the table. For a moment Batman let them talk. He knew by the way Zatanna was talking that she was deliberately holding something back. Clearly, she was uncomfortable talking about her family. It occurred to Batman that Zatara must have passed on his knowledge to his daughter. He glanced down the table and saw the Martian Manhunter, also looking thoughtful. He wondered if he had similar thoughts.

"Perhaps," J'onn J'onzz's deep voice momentarily cut through the other voices. "Perhaps in such a perilous situation like this we should wait."

"Wait?" Batman said impatiently. "Wait for what?"

"Wonder Woman, at least. She is not here. Aquaman, perhaps. Or perhaps, Shazam could join you."

"No," Bruce's voice was firm. "Diana is away on leave and I don't want Shazam involved, with this. He's too young. Besides, we have a narrow window according to Cyborg. Fenderbrake's movements were not easy to track but we know he will be at his home tonight. I intend to meet him there."

Nobody around the table looked exactly overjoyed at the prospect, but nobody protested his decision. That seemed to be the end of the briefing for now. Bruce glanced at Zatanna but she seemed wrapped up in her own thoughts. Then he saw Cyborg approaching and left to speak with him. Soon, Zatanna was sitting alone at the conference table.

"Zee?"

Startled, Zatanna looked up and saw Dinah staring down at her, a concerned look on her face. She forced a smile. "Oh, hi,Dinah."

"Is...everything okay?"

"It's fine. I guess I'm just thinking about the...mission."

Dinah nodded. "Ollie and I are a little worried about you. We haven't seen you for awhile."

"Oh, I've just been busy with rehearsing. I'm doing a couple months' worth of shows in Gotham City. You and Ollie should come."

"We will!" Dinah hesitated before asking. "Um, is...everything all right between you and Bruce?"

"What?" Zatanna looked genuinely confused for a second. "No...I mean, yes...there's nothing..."

"Zee, I'm your friend," Dinah said. "I'm not going to judge you. You know the gossip mill around here," she waved her arm at everyone. "I guess everyone is wondering about you and Bruce. Are you two...?"

Zatanna smiled. "I guess I know what they're talking about. I saw us on TMZ and _Daily World_."

She hesitated. It would be nice to confide in someone, and not have to argue with someone like Fuselli. "Bruce and me...yes, but nothing serious. I mean, not that serious. I invited him to one of my shows, I really didn't expect him to come, and everything just kind of clicked from there. After I broke up with John, I swore I wouldn't get involved with anyone again, ever. But forever's a long time, I guess. You wouldn't guess it, but he's wonderful to be around. I mean-"

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, Zee," Dinah said, smiling. "I've been there. Ollie, too, I guess. We told each other we weren't going to make demands on each other, and just see how where everything takes us. So far, it's been great. I guess we're just a good fit. I hope it's the same for you and Bruce, too."

Dinah glanced over at the far side of the room, where Batman was now arguing about something with Cyborg. "You know, I always hoped he would find someone who could, I don't know, get along with him. Selina was always a little too crazy for him, even though I like her. But honestly, I wouldn't have imagined you and him, I mean, he's so serious! I can't imagine him being, uh, relaxed."

"Opposites attract, it must be true," Zatanna shrugged. "You know, he'd be so irritated if he knew everyone knew about us."

Dinah laughed. "Well, my lips are sealed!"

Hawkman and Hawkgirl stood near the entranceway, watching Dinah and Zatanna laugh and talk together. Hawkgirl was surprised by the scowl on her partner's face, partially hidden by his helmet.

"What's up with you?"

"She was holding something back, I can tell," Hawkman said in a low voice. "I don't think she's being truthful with us. She knows more than what she is telling us. Why doesn't she tell the truth?"

"What do you mean?" Shayera was surprised. "What do you think she could be hiding?"

He fixed her with a hard stare. "She is a sorceress. She can hide many things."

She shook her head. "This isn't Thanagar, Talak. She does magic shows for kids. She's hardly-"

"It doesn't matter, Earth or Thanagar! Sorcerers and magic nearly destroyed our people. They led us into evil ways."

"That was millennia, ago!"

"I still don't trust her," Hawkman growled. "She should have never been allowed to join the League. She's a harbinger of danger, I know it."

"Batman trusts her," Shayera countered. "So does Superman."

"Superman's not here, if you've noticed, and neither is Wonder Woman. Who do we have to thank for that? As for Batman," Hawkman's eyes narrowed, as he saw Batman and Cyborg turn to talk to Zatanna. "How do we know she has not clouded his mind with her sorceries?"

Shayera grasped his arm. "What are you saying, Talak?"

"This all started when Zatanna arrived," Hawkman growled. "The night of the Black Stars, the disaster in Australia. She is a worshiper of Thasaidon, I am suspecting!"

"What?" Shayera pushed his arm away. "Why would she worship a Thanagarian god that no one on our world has taken seriously for centuries? This is all superstition anyway. This is Earth! I think your mind is going!"

"Laugh at me if you want. I am going to keep my eye on her. I've heard the whispers about Zatanna, I am not deaf. If they're true, Batman is a fool and hardly a leader!"

"You will do nothing," Shayera hissed. "Not without my order, Talak! Is that understood?"

He glared at her but she returned it equally. Finally he said:

"I understand. But we have a duty to protect our allies against threats, human or otherwise. Any threat. If Zatanna is a threat, her magics won't protect her, I promise you that."

He stormed off, leaving a puzzled Shayera in his wake.

Flash walked up to her. "What was all that about?"

"Oh, nothing," Shayera said hurriedly. "Listen, are you on duty tonight?"

"No, Cyborg's got it. Aren't you?"

"Yes," Shayera said slowly. "Call it a feeling, but I think we'll need your help tonight."

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **[A/N: Something of a filler this week, but next chapter will be more** **action-packed, I promise! If you've read Dini's Zatanna series you may remember Fuselli, but I've changed him just a little to fit in more with the story. Clark Ashton Smith, a friend of H.P. Lovecraft, created Thasaidon, which was an evil deity of the future earth, but here I've made him Thanagarian. Is Hawkman right to be suspicious of Zatanna? Should Bruce be more concerned? What will happen when - or if - they meet Dr. Fenderbrake in person. Tune in next chapter and find out! As always, thanks for reading so far, and please review!]**


	8. Chapter 8 - The Midnight Shift

**Chapter 8 – The Midnight Shift**

 _Texas, the Trans-Pecos Region_

Slade Wilson, aka Deathstroke the Terminator, contemplated the splendid yet desolate view from his vantage point: what appeared to be a simple and sturdy hunting lodge not far from Big Bend National Park. However the interior was rather far from rustic as it contained some of the best surveillance and tracking technology available on the planet. It was also stocked with enough weaponry to outgun any military base in the state. It was one of Slade's personal retreats, and his private headquarters for this region of the country, only accessible by himself and any crew he cared to employ at any given time.

Usually Slade preferred to work alone, but for this mission he grudgingly accepted the assistance of General Strauch and a handful of his aides, all special operatives like Slade himself formerly was, in what seemed like a million years ago. Yet he understood the reasons for this extra support – it was no mean thing to try to take down a god. On that point he wholeheartedly agreed with Director Amanda Waller.

However, Slade surprised himself at how amiable he found the old general's company, as they shared the same tastes in liquor, guns, and other activities. He didn't seem to be the usual boneheaded military general officer, the type who was all hot air and just waiting to retire so he could score himself a $150,000-a-year sinecure. So he sincerely hoped that at the end of job he wouldn't be required to kill the old bastard.

For now, he would welcome the assistance the general and his men provided.

As dusk fell Slade turned and retreated into the hunting lodge. The interior was occupied by recently installed equipment, including banks of computer screens and consoles. General Strauch and the rest were looking at enlarged photos of Superman and Wonder Woman on the main viewscreens. The faces of the superheroes were bisected by digital grids, tiny dots bisecting each point.

Strauch nodded as Slade joined them. "We're about to run our program. There's a good probability we can locate Superman and Wonder Woman using the latest facial recognition software. Since we know that they assume fake identities of normal people when not in the public sight, it may be possible to locate a match from surveillance cameras."

"That would be like finding a needle in a haystack," Slade replied. "I thought we only had that kind of surveillance in the major cities?"

"True, but a couple of years ago there was a pilot program created for similar surveillance in suburbia and rural locations, places like motels, shopping malls, and gas stations, since the bad guys began to avoid the cities. Several terrorists were caught that way. Of course it hasn't been publicized, to keep the public from complaining about 'invasion of privacy.'"

"Even so, it looks like it may take some time."

"Yeah, this isn't going to be a 'rush' job. I already have my men running the preliminaries. But I have my own theories about where the two of them might be."

"You care to share them?"

"I'm originally from a small town in Oklahoma," Strauch explained. "Small town folk tend to talk a certain way, and our body language, too, is a little different from city dwellers."

Slade snorted. "You think Superman's a hayseed? No offense."

"None taken. Look, we know that Superman has all but said he's been on this planet since he was a child. He won't reveal any of the details, he's that secretive. But I've watched hundreds, maybe thousands of hours of Superman, all the footage that exists. There was something familiar, and what would be familiar about an alien? That's when I started to suspect."

Slade shrugged. "Alright, I'll buy that. So do you think he lives in some hick town when he's not flying around in Metropolis?"

"Sir, we've got something! Two hits." One of the men seated before the viewscreens said.

Slade raised his eyebrows. "May be faster than we thought."

Two videos were pulled up to replace the photos. The first one was of the interior of a busy shopping mall, clearly an ATM camera. A young woman was making a withdrawal of cash, oblivious of the surveillance camera. The second camera was aimed over a counter in what looked like a convenience store. The same young woman was making a purchase of bottled waters and chips, and briefly engaged in conversation with the clerk although there was no accompanying audio. Both videos were black-and-white and grainy, but even without enhancement both Strauch and Slade could see the resemblance.

"Wonder Woman?" General Strauch turned to his lieutenant for confirmation. Slade heard the note of eagerness in his voice.

"It's an 8.5 match, so that makes it good enough to use in court," the man replied.

Slade felt it too – the intensity of the hunt was starting to reverberate in his blood. He forced himself to be cool, although he could already feel the sweat on his palms. He clenched his hands.

He focused on a closer look at the videos, each now repeating on a 10-second loop, observing every detail and every movement of the woman's slender, shapely body, dressed in her style of fashionable clothes, although not so extravagant they stood out from the immediate crowd. In the ATM video, the woman momentarily glanced directly at the camera: Slade saw her eyes, and he felt his heart start to pound. His prey, there!

Strauch did not notice his partner's intensity as he was bent over the shoulder of his underling. "Where was each video taken?"

"Sir, the ATM footage was taken from a shopping mall in Irvine, California. The second footage comes from a truck stop in South Dakota."

"She certainly gets around," one of the other men remarked.

"Of course she does, she can fly," Slade grunted. Abruptly, his hand slammed down on the console. The truck stop footage paused.

"What is it?" Strauch demanded.

"Look! Look there!" Slade pointed at the camera.

"What am I looking for?" The general sounded puzzled.

His lieutenant saw it first. "There's a child beside her."

Strauch saw it then and inhaled sharply. There was a dark-haired male child, standing close to Wonder Woman, dressed in t-shirt and shorts.

"I didn't know if it was true, but Waller thought so," Strauch muttered. "She told me the Kryptonian have offspring now. Lane always regretted he lost the Kryptonian when he had him. He knew something like this was bound to happen, and feared it. Imagine, the potential power of that kid!"

" _If_ you could control him," Slade interjected.

The general shook his head. "I…don't know. Waller's given up the idea of trying to capture Superman, she doesn't believe he can be controlled. But there are others in the Pentagon who still think there's a chance. If we could just...use the right lever."

"Mmm," Slade murmured contemplatively. "Not just the Pentagon. The Chinese have made it known they're willing to pay very high prices for Kryptonian tech…or DNA."

Strauch stared at him incredulously. "Then they're fools. Anyway, my orders are quite clear. This changes nothing."

"Your orders are simple, you mean."

"I can do simple. Doesn't keep me awake at night." Strauch stared at the child on the video. "When I was in Iraq...kids would rush our convoys in bomb vests. Has to be done, sometimes."

"Then, what we need to do now," Slade pointed out. "Is to track down exactly where Wonder Woman is. Locate her, and we locate Superman. There must be a reason why she's in those places. I don't believe there's any Justice League activity either in Orange County or South Dakota, so there's something else that's attracting her to those places."

"I'll have my men on it immediately," he looked at his lieutenant. "Any hits on Superman?"

"Not yet, sir, but we're still running the searches."

"You're right, Wilson, we'll be doing this round-the-clock," Strauch said. "Once we locate them…what then?"

"That," Slade's gaze turned to the walls of his lodge, where his collection of weapons hung, gleaming and sharp. "That will be up to me."

* * *

 _Bakken Camp - One Week Later  
_

Clark Kent, aka Joshua Clark, relaxed comfortably in his work-trailer, his long legs propped up on the small table in front of the couch, watching the ballgame on the TV. His son, Jon, eagerly colored in his coloring book in front of the blaring TV while his wife Diana was in the kitchen, taking the meatloaf out of the oven. He felt the cold much more keenly now that his powers were diminished: it was freezing outside but it was warm in the trailer. Especially in his bed with Diana there to warm him, as she had for the past several nights.

All in all, not really a bad life for a farmboy from Kansas, he thought...the only problem was that he was about to be unemployed. His final shift was tonight, as he had given in his notice a week earlier. Diana wasn't very pleased about his having to stay here even a minute longer but he explained that he couldn't get his last paycheck unless he worked his final shift.

"Besides," he'd added. "I can't ditch the guys, they're short-handed already. I can't leave them hanging."

Diana looked ready to argue but as she'd come to like his friend, John Henry Irons (Jon especially had taken a liking to him whenever he came by), and he had agreed to go home, she agreed to wait, even though she'd pouted a bit, which Clark found irresistably sexy.

He'd reached for her but she spoiled the mood when she said: "You know Bruce isn't going to like this. He wants you back as soon as possible."

Clark rolled his eyes. "When has he never _not_ liked something?"

"I'm serious. You haven't been on the Watchtower lately, so you don't know how bad his moods have gotten."

"Why? What's happened now?"

"Nothing, and that's why he's so grumpy. He's bored. He doesn't have you to argue with him."

He'd thought about that for a moment. He had to admit a part of him missed his old friend too, as difficult as he could be. He really did want to see him again.

"I'll see him first thing," Clark sighed finally. "Might as well get it over with."

Diana had been mollified by his decision at least. Enough so that she was willing to put up living for a few days at the camp. It was for the best, since Jon didn't want to have his Pa out of his sight for a moment, bawling whenever he had to leave for his shift.

Tonight, though, would be the last time Diana would have to act like a single mom. He'd come to appreciate how much she'd done in his absence, and with that, some guilt for leaving her in the first place. But he didn't regret his decision - he had to do _something_. He didn't want to admit that it was to feel like a whole man again.

"I could leave the car here, and take Jon back to the Fortress," Diana had offered. "We could meet you later?" But Clark had shook his head.

"No, I'll go back to the, um, the house with you. I'll...find something to do at home."

What that might be, Clark still wasn't sure. He guessed he could be a stay-at-home dad, while Diana worked with the Justice League and with her Amazon Society. He could blog from home, he had enough material to write for several months at least, and when the new baby arrived, he was sure he would have his hands full. Further out than that, he didn't want to think about. There had to be some way to recuperate his powers quicker, some way...

"Dinner's ready," Diana announced, thankfully bringing an end to Clark's brooding.

"Great!" He exclaimed as Diana brought out two plates of steaming meatloaf to the living room. Jon clambered onto the sofa next to him as she handed Clark their plates. He looked at her. "Aren't you eating?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine. I had a salad earlier."

"You're eating for two now, you need more than a salad."

"I'm eating _healthy_ ," Diana stressed as she watched Clark help Jon with his slice of mystery meat and french fries slathered in ketchup, from a bag she found tucked back in the freezer. Jon pretended to be a dinosaur from his coloring book and roared as he ate his piece, gobbling it down messily. Instead of correcting him, Clark laughed and played along, roaring and pretending to attack his dinner. Jon copied him, and they laughed together.

Diana sighed. She decided she would have to make more offerings to Hera, to ensure this new child would be a girl.

"Let's try to eat like civilized people, maybe?" Diana took their plates back to the kitchen when they'd finished.

"Oh we're just having fun," Clark said as Jon clambered on his lap, wriggling like a puppy. "What's for dessert?"

"You don't have anything left in the fridge. I'll have to go to the store later to get something for breakfast." There was a little company-owned shop that sold food at exorbitant prices near the camp. "How did you not starve out here?"

"Well...I never noticed." Clark had never had a very big appetite, sunlight being his main source of sustenance, but now he felt hunger pains stronger he'd noticed as his body strove to collect energy even from what was in food. "I've just been busy."

Diana joined him on the sofa as Jon went back to his coloring book. She curled up against him, welcoming the feel of his arm around her. "Did you get what you came here for? I mean, about your writing?"

Clark shook his head, and she noted the disappointed look on his face. "Sort of. I thought there'd be a real story here, but other than people's personal stories, there's nothing else."

"What did you expect to find?"

"There were rumors that the company was doing something other than typical fracking research and exploration. There were stories that they'd discovered something, new oil deposits, or rare earths, something like that. A lot more digging equipment was brought in, in the past month, that got some people talking. Safety precautions being ignored."

Diana was curious. "Where did you hear this?"

"In the bars, and..." Clark caught Diana's look. "Um...not bars so much as just gossip among the other workers. I guess it was all just rumors."

Diana rubbed his shoulder. "Well, not all leads pan out, you know that. You tried."

Clark looked at his wife, and felt that twinge of guilt again. "I know I've made you unhappy by being here. I'll make up for it, I promise."

"It's all right." Although what he said was true, she didn't want to see her husband so despondent. "Like I said, everyone's looking forward to seeing you again. We've got some potential new recruits, and it looks like they're going to do really well, since Hal is still gone. Zatanna's been more active with us, too."

Diana didn't usually tend to gossip, but she thought this would help lighten Clark's mood. "There's even a rumor that she and Bruce are, ah, seeing each other."

Clark stared at her incredulously. "What? How do you know that?"

She smiled, and took out her phone. She tapped on it and held it up for him to see. Clark's eyes widened.

"I don't believe it!"

"I heard from Black Canary on the Watchtower that the two of them are involved in something, I don't know what it is. Whatever it is, they're spending a lot of time with each other."

"I hope Zatanna knows what she's doing," Clark laughed. "I can't imagine him of all people in a relationship."

"It's probably just what he needs, someone to-"

Headlights flashed through the windows as a car parked in front of the trailer. Clark got up and opened the door just in time for John Henry Irons to walk in. He barely fit through the trailer's door.

"You ready for your last shift?" Irons said in his deep voice. He smiled as Jon ran to him and he swung him up in his big hands, squealing as he touched the ceiling. "Hey, Jon! I'll miss the little guy!"

Diana smiled. "You'll have to visit us when you get some time off."

"Well, I'm thinking it might be time to change pastures too. I heard there's layoffs coming down the pipeline. So I guess ,Clark, you're leaving at just the right time."

Clark shrugged on his coat as Diana shook Irons' hand in goodbye. "We're planning to leave first thing in the morning. Be sure and give Clark your email and we'll keep in touch."

"I'll be sure to do that, ma'am," Irons handed over the little boy back to Diana. Jon seemed to know it would be his last visit and began sniffling.

"I'll be back in the morning," Clark kissed Jon and then her.

"Be sure you do. Don't make me come looking for you." Diana said, only half-jokingly.

Jon whimpered as his father and his friend left, but she could tell he was getting sleepy and would go to bed as soon as she put him in it. She sighed in relief. Only one more night here and they would all be home.

It wasn't very far to the shop where Clark and Irons worked, but it was better to get there in a beat-up Chrysler that still had the heater working, than walking in the cold. Throughout the weeks Clark had been working, his shop had been moved further and further out from the camp, as the facility had expanded.

"Is it true about the layoffs?" Clark couldn't help but think of all the people who would be unemployed again and crisscrossing the country searching for work. _Like me._

"Guess so," Irons replied. "Word is that the company's 're-structuring' and going more into the exploration mode. They won't need as many people, they got robots and machines to do all the heavy-liftin.' Well, it couldn't last forever. I wasn't planning on staying here forever, anyway."

Irons looked sideways at Clark. Some time ago he had sussed out Clark's real reason for being at the camp, he didn't seem like the 'roughneck' type, although the man was a hard worker. "You gonna write more about this place, Josh?"

"I don't know," Clark said. "My, um, friend was wanting to find out if the company was into anything illegal, but I never found out anything big time."

"Well, man, you certainly got some guys pissed off when you wrote about the safety violations," Irons replied. "I didn't want to say anything in front of your old lady, but I always thought something shady was going on. You'd be surprised what people will say when they think no one's around except some big dumb black guy." He shook his head. "I been working on modifications to some drilling equipment lately, for the new site we've been working at. Whatever they're doing, they're wanting to get to it fast."

"What's 'it' though?" Clark wondered.

"Some new energy source, I heard. Not oil, something better supposedly. Lotsa guys in suits coming by lately, all excited looking, so maybe they found what they was looking for. I guess someone's gonna be making money."

"And it probably won't be us," Clark said, echoing his friends thoughts. They shared a sad look.

Irons pulled up to a complex of buildings, which was constructed at the edge of large pit lit with lights. Mining equipment, earth-movers, excavators, haulage trucks, and other machinery were stationed in and around it. There were other cars parked nearby, some beat-up old cars and trucks like Irons', others were later models and still had the gloss of recent upkeep. Irons pointed them out to Clark.

"Look, Josh, seems like we've got some of those fancy visitors I was tellin' you about."

As they left the car, the arctic wind blew powerfully against them, and Clark pulled up the collar of his jacket. They hurried into the building.

As soon as they entered, they were met by a man wearing a hardhat and a name badge that read: Shift Supervisor: 'Martins.' ""Bout time you two slackers got here!"

"Hey we're 10 minutes early!" Irons replied.

"That means you're 15 minutes late," the supervisor replied, although his voice held no real anger. He looked at Clark. "This is the last shift for you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, we'll be missing you," Martins said sincerely. Clark thought it was the first nice thing the man had said to him his whole time working here. Usually the man had a gift for bitching. "We'll have to get all eight hours from you tonight then."

"What's going on? Outside?" Irons jerked his head back to the exit door.

"Oh, yeah, looks like it's gonna be a busy one tonight," Martins said. "The higher-ups want to try to push through to the next level down tonight. So your job," he pointed at Clark. "You're gonna be manning the remote Xsell-6 robot. Irons, make sure everything's ready to go. You're already late."

"What?" Irons said. "But it's not ready yet. I mean, the support structures haven't been finished yet I still need a couple more days!"

"What part of 'higher-ups' and 'tonight' didn't you understand?" Martins growled. But Clark could tell his boss looked uncomfortable at the rushed schedule too. "Just get down there and do it, the two of you!"

As the rest of the midnight shift entered the building, Supervisor Martins turned his attention to them, bawling his new instructions. Irons and Clark looked at each other.

"Always some bullshit," Irons grumbled. "They're gonna have an accident sooner or later. Like I said, you're lucky tonight is your last shift."

"I hope you're wrong," Clark muttered. As the two of them headed down to their stations, Clark heard the door open again. He saw more people enter, but these weren't his shiftmates. They weren't dressed for work, but more like for a board meeting, in expensive coats and shoes, their hair immaculately coiffed. They were accompanied by other men Clark recognized as company executives, and from their body language and demeanor it was evident that they were trying to impress the new visitors. However, the visitors looked impatient.

"Look at that," Clark nudged Irons. "Are those the people in the suits you were talking about?"

"Yeah," Irons said. "I think one of 'em works for Wayne Enterprises."

Clark looked surprised. He remembered Bruce had mentioned something that his company were contractors here. "What would they want with what's down here?"

"Who knows?"

"Hey!" Martins voice echoed throughout the big building. "You guys gonna get to work or what?"

"Hold yer panties, we're going we're going!" Irons laughed and the two of them hurried to their stations.

"I'd like to get some information from those guys," Clark muttered. His reporter's sense told him that there was something here. It was frustrating that he was leaving in the morning.

"Don' know how you're going to that...but maybe you can ask them yourself," Irons saw that the company execs were handing the visitors hardhats and goggles and hurrying towards one of the shaft elevators. "Guess they're going down into the pit with us."

Clark and Irons worked on the ground level of the open-pit, where Clark could remotely control the mining robot that helped excavate and drill through the rock and dirt. Irons worked in the repair shop, or out in the pit itself, making as needed repairs to equipment that needed to be fixed on the go. They descended through a shaft elevator, feeling the cold increase as they went down hundreds of feet into the pit. The place was as brightly lit as day, and dozens of workers went to and fro, the air filled with their shouts and the sounds of diesel engines.

They exited and saw that the visitors were already there, talking with several other higher-level supervisors, in some animated discussion. Clark paused to watch them.

His hearing was another one of his abilities that had declined, but not completely. He was still able to hear fairly well speech from a distance, although not as much as would have liked, and he wished he had it tonight. He caught snippets of their conversation, which managed to reach him through all the other noise.

"...there's no way that it can be there..."

"How do you explain it then? There's no doubt..."

"...and if the state finds out we've recovered...not to mention the local tribes will go crazy..."

"...my boss wants the schedule pushed forward now! Wayne Enterprises will cover..."

"...tonight if at all, the weather's gonna turn..."

"...never mind...let's get going then..."

Then the group turned and disappeared into another building, and Clark, to his intense frustration, could not hear them anymore.

Irons noted Clark's dismay. "What you think's going on boy?"

"I have no idea. They're sure in a hurry though."

"Well we'd better be too if we're not gonna get docked!"

"Yeah. I'll see you later. Stay safe."

"You too, man."

Clark entered a shack that was only slightly warmer than the outside air. It was a mini-control room, the eerie glare of the videoscreen the only illumination. Two of his shiftmates, Mark Johanson and Bill Teith, were already setting up. Clark liked them very much. He had written some of their stories (names changed, of course) in his blog. Mark was an Army vet who had survived four tours in Iraq. Bill was older, a laid-off steelworker form the Rust Belt glad to have gotten this job to help with his retirement.

"What's up?"

"Martins up our ass if we don't get online right now," Mark laughed. "Did you see him?"

"Yeah, he complained I was late again," Clark set down his lunch-bucket and took his place in the main terminal console-chair, where he could control and observe his remote digging machine.

"Make sure you he doesn't screw you on your timesheet," Bill warned.

"No chance of that," Clark said. "I need every last dollar."

"Your wife making you quit?"

"She needs help at home, with Jon. She's having another baby," he added.

"Well congratulations!" Both men clapped him on the back. "Yay, another mouth to feed! You should stay on, make more money if you can."

Clark smiled. "I think I'm going to be a stay-at-home dad for awhile."

"Yeah, that's what Michelle wanted me to do to, but I know we'd end up making each other crazy," Mark replied.

"Well, I think you're doing the right thing," Bill added. "Manning up and taking responsibility for the kids. It's becoming a rare thing nowadays."

Clark nodded, began doing his pre-checks. "Do you know what's going on with the schedule?"

"All I heard was, they want to push on to the next level down. I know it wasn't scheduled until the next month, but I guess they wanna impress the investors."

"Yeah, they're already here. I heard they found something too."

"So did I. You know Jim, on the afternoon shift? He claimed that they found artifacts when they went through the sifts."

"What?" Clark sounded intrigued.

"Yeah, can you believe that? Jim said he saw them himself, like figurines of a big frog or something, amulets an' such. Indian stuff, maybe, but I don't think the Sioux ever had a burial site out here, and that far down?"

"Yeah, I think he's just talking out his ass," Bill sat down next to Clark at his terminal. "Jim's also way into Bigfoot and UFOs, he claimed he saw a big ball of light hovering outside the camp last week. He's just full shit half the time."

Bill pointed as the viewscreens came online with the date stamps. "Lookee here. Looks like the bigwigs gonna get a front row seat. They must be in the VIP shack," he said, referring to a conference room that had overlooked the pit itself.

"They're pretty close to the dig," Clark said worriedly. "If the floor caves in or there's any flying shrapnel..."

"That's their problem," Mark was not sympathetic.

A voice crackled over the radio. "You guys ready?"

Bill responded. "As ready as we're gonna be. We gonna do this? We haven't get a map ready yet."

"Don't matter. Just start drilling with the Xsell until we tell you to stop. Never mind the direction...guys upstairs think that you're going to hit the roof of a cave."

"What?" The men in the shack stared at each other.

"Underground ultrasounds we did an hour go may point to some kind of underground cavern system. Maybe that's the oil deposits or whatever they're looking for. So be ready!"

Clark wished his seeing would have returned as well as his hearing. It would be something to know if that were true. But they were going to find out one way or the other.

"All right," he sighed. "Everyone ready to work?"

"I guess," Mark muttered. "I got a bad feeling about this though. Whenever you rush an operation, someone's gonna get hurt."

Clark couldn't disagree with that.

* * *

 _Back at the camp..._

Diana finished packing Clark's things, which didn't take long as he didn't have much to begin with. Jon was still coloring in front of the TV, which had shifted over to the evening news. Usually, she tried not to listen to it, since often there was something on Superman's ongoing absence, but her ears perked up when she heard this last segment:

"...absence goes on. And in other news today, a report from Gothan City that its most famous criminal, the Joker, the so-called 'Clown Prince of Crime' escaped from Arkham Asylum tonight. Reports coming in from the Gotham City Police Department state that at least four people were injured during the breakout. The Joker was arrested three years ago for murder and armed robbery, declared mentally unfit to stand trial and committed to..."

Diana turned off the TV. She didn't think Bruce could be in a worse mood than he already was, but certainly this would help.

Jon looked up from his coloring. "Ma?"

"Time for bed, little warrior," Diana picked him up.

Jon squirmed. "Can't I wait for Pa?"

"Pa will be home in the morning," Diana said. "You can see him then."

She carried him to the single bedroom in the trailer. She tucked him in Clark's bed and he snuggled up with his plush dog.

"We go home tomor'row?" Jon asked.

Diana nodded. "We'll all be home tomorrow. You, me, and Pa."

Jon smiled, and he fell asleep in an instant.

Diana watched him for a moment, thinking of the fresh child that was in her womb. It would be a struggle to raise two children with powers, if Clark's didn't return as quickly as they'd both hoped. For a moment she wished that she could also disappear from the public eye, and just live with her man in peace and solitude, but she knew that could never happen. People needed them. She supposed it would always be so, and one day Jon and his sister or brother would have to take up that responsibility.

For the meantime, however, she would cherish these moments of ordinariness. She shouldn't take them for granted.

Diana remembered that she needed food to make breakfast for tomorrow, so that Clark and Jon would have something to eat before leaving for home. It would only be a short hop to the store, and then back to this trailer, which she wouldn't be sad to see the last of.

* * *

 _At the pit..._

Clark's team had been remote-drilling for about a half-hour before the first obstacle was hit. Otherwise it had been fairly quiet. The robot automatically slowed its descent and decelerated.

"What'd we hit?" Bill asked.

"Not sure," Clark checked the monitor. "We might have had a breakdown someplace."

"Well find out the problem and fix it," Supervisor Martin's voice sounded anxious even over the outdated intercom system. "Right away."

"Yes sirree," Bill shut it off for now. "You'd think there was a shitload of diamonds somewhere down there, the way they're carrying on."

Clark examined the monitors. His robot wasn't the only excavator, but from the other operators' screens he could tell they were having the same problem. A vein of some tougher rock than they'd currently been drilling through had appeared, and what kind it was he wasn't sure, but...

Suddenly, the ground shook under them, a light rumbling that lasted maybe a second or two then stopped. Clark and the others froze, startled.

"An earthquake?" Bill muttered. "Felt fairly strong."

"I think that's the third one this month," Clark said. The region of the state they were in typically didn't experience earthquakes at all. He had no doubt that it had something to do with their drilling and excavation. He'd written about that too, and commentators mentioned fracking and its potential dangers, but the company had ignored them.

"Do we keep going?" Mark asked.

"Well until we get orders otherwise, we do."

* * *

 _At the camp..._

Diana felt the rumbling as soon as she touched down behind the store. She hesitated, wondering if a stronger one would happen, but nothing did. She breathed out. She had better get her groceries and return home as soon as possible.

Tonight there weren't many people around. After the company picnic, a few families had stayed and she'd seen them shopping here, but now she saw only a few guys hanging around the entrance, big bearded men in work clothes and boots, drinking beers openly. They eyed her as she walked into the store, and she ignored them. It wasn't the first time.

Diana quickly selected a 1/2 dozen carton of eggs, a small chunk of cheese, a loaf of bread and a quart of milk. The total for that came to over $30.00. She took her bag and left, hoping to get home quickly, but to her irritation the men from the store began following her.

She turned to confront them; they gave her distinctly unfriendly stares.

"What do you want?" Diana challenged them.

One of them men deigned to chuckle. "What's in the bag, lady?"

"Food for my family," she replied quietly. Maybe they just wanted to get drunker. "Nothing you'd want."

"Oh you got something we want, woman," the burly man replied. "C'mon, we'll give you a few bucks, just show us a good time."

"Turn around, and go home," Diana warned, her voice chill. "I'm only telling you once."

The man laughed but his companion's eyes flared in anger.

"I'm telling you want to do, bitch," he growled. "Get your ass here."

Diana carefully lowered her groceries to the ground as the men rushed her. Hopefully the eggs would survive this.

* * *

 _At the pit..._

"We almost there?" Clark's boss was sounding more irritated each minute the delay went on.

"We're doing all we can from up here," Clark replied. "We've had to withdraw two of the Xsells from service. They damaged their bore-bits."

"I know I got Irons working on repairing them right now. But we need to get online."

Bill and Mark looked exasperated, and Clark knew he probably did too.

"What's the rush?" Clark finally said. "Whatever we're drilling down to, it's not going anywhere."

Another voice crackled over the intercom, a man's voice with a distinctly New England accent. "Who is in charge there?"

Bill and Mark pointed to Clark, although they couldn't be seen. Clark sighed. "I am. Joshua Clark."

"Mr. Clark, I would advise you to do your job and get your equipment running again immediately, and not concern yourself with matters that do not concern you. That is, if you do not with to be fired and blackballed from working in the industry ever again. Is that understood?"

"Uh...roger that."

"Then focus on your work." The intercom clicked off.

Bill and Mark couldn't conceal their laughter. "Well, that guy sure told you off!"

"Who the hell's he?" Clark wondered.

"One of those guys in the suits, I'd guess," Mark tinkered with the controls. "I recognized his voice, he's one of the reps for Wayne Enterprises. I sat in on a meeting he was in, he's just a pushy asshole type."

 _Great,_ Clark thought. _Can't wait to tell Bruce the type of guys he's got working for him!_

"I think we're online again," Mark said as the screens went to green.

They watched as the robots resumed drilling. Then the next earthquake came.

* * *

 _At the camp..._

The would-be rapist flew through the air and landed in a heap next to his companion, who was lying unconscious amid the piles of trash out back. He groaned, and fell over, blood dripping from a broken nose.

"Stay down," Diana growled as the man tried to get up. It was a futile attempt anyway, as he groaned again and collapsed into an unconscious heap.

Diana had a mind to grab the two and fly them to the nearest jail - who knew how often they'd accosted someone before - but there was Jon at home. She would check on him, and then make sure these clowns were somewhere they couldn't bother anyone else. The cashier would probably be outside in a minute, wondering who was throwing something at the rear of the store.

An enormous sudden shaking nearly threw Diana off her feet. She fell to her knees, and saw cracks in the store's structure appear. She rushed in, and grabbed the startled cashier, pulling him outside just as the shelves collapsed and half the ceiling fell in.

"Stay here!" Diana ordered. The man gawped at her, but managed to nod. She saw and heard lights go on all over the camp, and faint sound of sirens.

She had to check on Jon first. She ran as quickly as she could back to the trailer, the groceries forgotten.

* * *

 _At the pit..._

A piercing wail echoed throughout the shack as the robots' drill bit shattered. "Damn!" Clark exclaimed.

"Never mind," Mark pointed. "Looks like we've made a breakthrough. Can you see it?"

The three men peered at the monitors. They all reflected back, in greenish glow, darkness beyond an absence of rock.

"Well, looks like we've done hit the next level just what they wanted," Bill leaned back in his chair. "Time for a break!"

"Hmm," Clark doubled-checked the readings, and pushed the intercom button. "Mr. Martins, what do you want us to do now?"

There was no response, but there was chatter that Clark could hear over the microphone. Congratulatory exclamations...or an argument?

"Um, stand by," Martins' voice sounded uncertain.

"What do you think that means?" Bill said?

"According to the Xsell's sensors, looks like we hit a really big cavern, I mean _big_ ," Clark said. "Looks like a football field wide, and down... who knows?"

Mark shrugged. "If it's not what they's looking for, could be a whole lot of wasted time and money."

"Hey! What's that!" Bill shouted.

The others whirled to look at the screen but it showed just more greenish blackness.

"What? What did you see?"

"I...don't know," Bill stammered. Clark stared at him. The older man looked stunned. "I thought I saw something move."

"Is the Xsell on standby still?" Mark checked the readouts. "Yeah...it is. Ain't nothing moving on it."

"No! Not the robot, there was something in the middle of the screen! Some... _thing_..."

Mark laughed. "Can't be nothing living down there! Not even bugs. Maybe something's crawling in here cross our monitors..."

The intercom burst to life again, and the three men heard more clearly the argument going on wherever the VIP conference room was. Only it had risen to shouts, accusations, something about going "too far too fast." Clark couldn't understand most of it, but it didn't sound good to any of the men.

"Hey!" Clark shouted. "What's going on over there?"

"My God!" Bill screamed. " _Look!_ "

Clark only had a moment to turn, and he did see something on the screen. A face...or a semblance of a face, swimming up from the darkness of the whole, a nightmare face glaring at them. The screen crackled, distorted, and it was impossible to think how was that possible.

Then everything exploded.

* * *

 _At the trailer..._

"Jon!" Diana burst into the trailer, rushing into the bedroom. Everything that wasn't secured had fallen over. Glass shards were all over the kitchen floor.

To her relief the little boy was sitting up in bed, and she inwardly cursed herself for ever leaving him alone. She should have known better. He looked okay, just sleepy and a little confused.

"I heard noise," he complained. "It woke me up."

"Come on," Diana swept him up in her arms, not forgetting Krypto the plushie dog. "I think I'll take you home now."

"No!" Jon struggled sleepily in his mom's arms, still only half-awake. "Pa's not wit us. Wanna go..."

Another tremor shuddered through the trailer, and over a moment she wondered if it wouldn't just fall apart. Jon's eyes widened, more curious than frightened.

"It's okay, Jon," she held him tighter. "It's only an earthquake."

"Kake?"

Diana hurried outside, and then the night lit up as an enormous fireball roared into the sky, the blast nearly knocking the Amazon off her feet, pushing the trailer meters across the ground. The two of them stared incredulously at the ball of fire rising, rising into the sky.

 _"Clark!"_ Diana screamed.

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **[A/N: What the heck happened? Sounds like maybe something was the fault of Wayne Enterprises...Diana and Clark will have some questions for Bruce soon (you didn't think Clark was in any real danger did you?) but he has some danger heading his way. His and Zatanna's...to be revealed next chapter. Thanks again for reading. Just want to add I saw Suicide Squad finally and really enjoyed it. Viola Davis was AWESOME as Amanda Waller and I liked Jared Leto's Joker more than I expected I would. So much that I had to have him escape from Arkham Asylum...and he MAY make an appearance in this fic! That will be down the road some though. For now, please review!]**


	9. Chapter 9 - The Doctor's House

**Chapter 9 – The Doctor's House**

 _Somewhere Over America_

The Batplane soared through the dark cloudless sky, invisible and undetectable to anyone save to those whom its pilot wished to see it. Sleek and angular and graceful, it cut through the cold night speeding to its destination unimpeded.

Batman didn't really have to navigate his plane, as it didn't require manual guidance until it was at the end of its journey; despite that he focused his attention on the control-panel nevertheless, making sure everything was as fully operational as he wanted.

Zatanna sat beside him in the passenger seat, still amazed at being in such a technologically advanced aircraft, although she tried not to show it like a dweeb. She was reminded of Baron Winter's complaint that magic was no longer a force in the world – well, here was one reason why. This, and the mind of the man who had created it. She barely felt any motion and it was virtually soundless in the cockpit.

Soundless that is except for Cyborg's voice coming over the speaker, sounding as if he were right there in the cockpit with them: "Looks like it's quiet at your destination and all around it. Target lives some way out of town so you won't be disturbing any of the neighbors, there's that at least. He has a two-story ranch-style house down a private road five miles off the highway. There's a car parked in the driveway so I bet he's home, that and there's at least one heat signature inside the house."

"Good," Batman replied flatly. "Keep communication silence until we land. I don't want even a hint of a chance for them to know we're coming. Batman out."

Zatanna glanced aside at him. His jaw was set in that hard and grim way that meant he was all business. Of course he always looked that way when he was in the suit, but right now he looked especially forbidding, the kind of discouraging-talking-forbidding, so she decided not to say anything.

But he surprised her when he initiated conversation.

"Are you ready?" He asked quietly.

She reached inside her coat and produced a thin black rod, about seven inches long. Batman thought it looked like metal but he couldn't be sure. "Is that your…wand?"

"Well, that's not quite the right word but…yes it is. I only use it for certain magickal work."

Bruce stared at it curiously until she quickly put it back in its pocket. He returned his focus back to the control panel. "Do you think this Fenderbrake knows magick?"

Zatanna shrugged. "Anything's possible. If you're asking me if he's _homo magii_ …I don't know. There are _homo magii_ among every ethnic group on the planet. But even if he's not that doesn't mean he doesn't know some craft. People can dabble all they want."

 _Like Constantine,_ Batman thought although he didn't say it. He should have tried harder to bring the man around, as his knowledge would have been useful. But he knew Zatanna wouldn't have liked it. She was barely on board with all this herself, he knew.

"You still don't agree with me." He said bluntly.

Zatanna gave a deep sigh. "It doesn't matter, I volunteered to help the Justice League. I understand the bit about 'knowing your enemy.' I just don't understand why…why _you_ want to understand it so much."

He explained carefully. "Something happened to me on Themyscira. I don't remember much of it, but I know something did happen, at the very end when I was caught up in that maelstrom that nearly engulfed the island. It was only seconds, but it was like I was in another place, another...reality. I felt…different."

Zatanna said nothing for a long moment. Her fists were clenched in her lap. At first Bruce thought she wouldn't reply but then she said:

"Did you know my father dyed his hair?"

"What?" Bruce stared at her, wondered what that had to do with what he'd just said.

"He dyed it jet-black, just like you see on all the posters. I can still smell it, I think, sometimes. Nobody knew it wasn't natural for years, only a few people knew, including me, and they thought he did it to to look good for his shows, and all that male Italian vanity crap. Only I knew why he really did it. His hair turned snow-white when he was still a young man…because he _saw_ what lay in the Outer Darkness, and he didn't die or go mad. That's something you can't really explain to people."

Zatanna looked at him. "I know you don't believe it but it's a blessing you can't remember. Most people with this knowledge, they regret it."

"Fenderbrake isn't dead," Bruce pointed out. "Whatever he's doing, and I'm sure he doesn't regret it at all."

She pursed her lips and said nothing. For several minutes there was nothing except silence in the cockpit. She should have known then he wouldn't be dissuaded by anything she said, he was just too stubborn.

But he surprised her by what he said next.

"I know they're talking about us," Bruce said quietly, in a different tone of voice. "Does it bother you?"

"What?" Zatanna was surprised at the change of conversation. "What, I mean…no, not at all." She didn't think he'd want to talk about _that_ during their mission. She wondered which 'they' he meant: their Justice League friends or the press? "Um...what about you?"

He gave an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders. "No. Of course people will talk. I just wondered if…you were upset by it."

She hadn't expected that. She couldn't imagine Bruce reading the gossip news, but she supposed he did it to keep up his 'image.'

"I'm a little in the public eye, already. I admit, though, I'm not used to anyone caring who I'm, um, dating. I…assume that's what we're doing."

She made it sound like a question. It almost seemed like he was deliberately trying not to look directly at her. But she took that for an assent. She grinned.

"My manager Charly warned me about you," she added playfully. "She said you were a dangerous playboy, and that I should avoid you."

"She's probably right," Bruce muttered without the same levity.

The smile faded from Zatanna's face. "You don't mean that."

"I know you can 'take care of yourself,'" Bruce said. "Do you remember when we first met?"

"How could I forget it?"

 _Two years ago…_

 _Zatanna had received a message from Detective Frazier, her contact at the San Francisco Police Department. He was her liaison for the so-called 'Midnight Shift,'_ _the police branch that handled weird occult matters whenever they popped up, and vetted psychics for work on missing persons cases. Frazier's own boss, now long-retired, had been her father's liaison when he was alive. She had wanted to continue his work helping law enforcement._

 _Lately, he hadn't called her, but this time he'd asked to meet her at a popular little coffee shop in the Haight-Ashbury. He didn't initially say what it was about, so she was intrigued. She met him just before the noontime lunch rush; he was a pleasant-looking man in his middle-forties, happily partnered to an older man, an emigrant from Brazil. Despite his affability, she knew he was a tough cop who'd put away some infamous crews. She trusted him._

" _Hi Mark!" Zatanna saw that he had already taken a table. She always used his first name when out in public. She saw that he was in casual civilian dress too, although she knew he always kept a concealed sidearm under his jacket._

" _Hi Zee," Mark Frazier smiled at her but she saw a trace of tenseness around his mouth. "It's been too long! I'm glad to see you looking well. I heard you're finally going to be on TV?"_

 _They exchanged the usual pleasantries, a bit longer than usual, which made her wonder what was up. She hadn't heard of any big cases in the news._

 _After they'd ordered their lattes, her policeman friend finally got around to it._

" _Well, it's been quiet for awhile on the midnight shift," he explained. "But that's not why I wanted to meet you. We got a message for you through our unofficial channels."_

 _Zatanna was surprised."From who?"_

 _For the first time, Frazier looked uncomfortable._

" _There's a…certain person who wants to meet you. Privately."_

" _Wow, I didn't know you all were running a dating service too!" Zatanna joked but he didn't smile._

" _I don't think it's that kind of meeting. The message came like this."_

 _He reached into his coat and brought out a small thick card, like a business card. He laid it flat on the table, his big hand covering it completely, and pushed it across to her. When he removed his hand she saw what was printed on it. No words, just an image._

 _When she saw it, Zatanna's heart nearly stopped, whether from excitement, or excited fear, she still didn't know, and then it was like there was nothing and no one in the café except for her and Detective Frazier._

" _Is it…real?" She whispered._

 _Frazier nodded. "This was delivered through our 'channel' that works in Gotham City._ 'He' _wants to meet you."_

" _Me?" Zatanna heard her voice come out weird and squeaky. She cleared her throat before speaking again. "But…why me?"_

" _I guess he's heard about you, and what you do for us. He didn't exactly say what he wants, he only gave a time and place…and your name, alone."_

 _Frazier glanced quickly around to make sure no one was listening. "Listen, Zee, you don't have to go through with this if you don't want to. I know you've done nothing wrong, and I heard this guy can be dangerous to those he doesn't like. Anyway, this is San Francisco, not that shithole Gotham, we can give you protection-"_

 _Zatanna shook her head. Her heart was beating fast, but she realized she was actually very excited. "No…no I'll meet him and find out what he wants. Besides…I don't want to get any of our people hurt, if he's really like that."_

 _Of course the meeting place was down by the docks, and in the middle of the night: a nice empty and dark wide space lit by sparse street lamps. No one was around, not even homeless people. No one would be out here if they didn't have to._

 _She had made certain to dress in her best working costume. She arrived a little early, but of course she didn't see anyone about, certainly not a giant bat-person._

 _It was cold, and she could see her breath, and the fog was thick. She guessed she must have waited for half an hour, and was on the verge of leaving altogether – maybe the whole thing was just some kind of hoax – when she heard rather than saw something very big and very black drop down right in front of her._

 _She gasped and nearly jumped a foot back._

" _Thgil!" She shouted instinctively._

 _Zatanna saw him for the first time then, and she could see for herself how this thing had become the fear of Gotham. She had to resist an instinctive urge to turn round and run the opposite direction as fast as she could._

" _Nice trick," it spoke, and for the first time she realized there was a real man inside that suit. "I wonder if can you do anything else?"_

" _I can do a lot of things!" Zatanna said defensively, and at least her voice didn't come out squeaky. "Are you really the Batman?"_

 _The huge form said nothing and she realized it must have been a dumb question. What was he going to say, 'No'?_

 _She tried again."What…what do you want?"_

" _I'm looking for individuals to help the Justice League," the Batman strode towards her, and she resisted another urge to step back. It – he – was tall and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. "I have heard that there are individuals in the world who can do so-called real 'magic.' Is that for real or are you just another stage actor?"_

 _Something about his voice and the way he said 'just another' rubbed her the wrong way. She folded her arms in indignation._

" _What the heck is this, an audition?" She demanded._

" _Yes!"_

 _Faster than she could believe, he flung something at her. She dodged just in time, as a pair of darts, or something, thudded into the pole behind her. She whirled and stared about – he had disappeared!_

" _What are you doing?" She cried out. He could have hurt her with those!_

" _Do you help people, or do you just trick the police, or people, and take their money?" Batman's accusing voice echoed from somewhere. She tensed._

" _What is it with you? Where are you?"_

 _For a moment, total silence, and she strained to see even in the pool of light that surrounded her. She was sure he was hiding in the darkness but-_

 _There was a whoosh! and Zatanna lost her balance as the Batman's large cape brushed against her, knocking her down. She landed awkwardly on her butt, wincing. Now she was pissed!_

 _The Batman was in front of her again and stared down at her, looking decidedly unimpressed._

" _You have a history with the San Francisco Police," he rasped in that harsh voice. "They seem to be impressed with you. Myself, not so much. It seems before you started your professional 'career' as a stage magician, you hung out with a crowd of druggies and occultist wanna-bes. You and a man named John Constantine were arrested two years ago in London for a B &E of a magic shop, among other mischiefs."_

" _What? No, wait, there was a good reason for that, it was…hey, why are you poking into my history?" Zatanna gasped._

" _I'd hoped you might be an asset, even people with a shady history could be helpful to us, but perhaps not."_

 _He had turned to go, his cape swirling before him, and Zatanna jumped to her feet._

" _You want to see some real magic?" She growled. "Dnoub yb sniahc!"_

 _The look on the Batman's face as he was encircled by the chains and tied to the same pole where his darts were embedded was most gratifying. She stood with her hands on her hips, smiling contentedly as he struggled. Maybe she should have agreed to have Frazier and his cops here to see this! What pictures they could have gotten!_

" _There! I hope you liked the show!" Zatanna laughed derisively. "Have a nice day!"_

 _She turned on her heels to leave – let the dockworkers find him in the morning! – but a grating sound made her turn around. She had never been so shocked to see the chains she'd conjured lying in a heap on the ground, with no Batman around. She had never seen anyone escape like that before!_

" _And I thought_ I _was a good escape artist!" She whispered to herself._

" _A very good trick," Batman said from the darkness. "I recognize what you said, only you said it backwards didn't you?"_

 _She spun around and staggered back as he was right before her, blocking her path._

" _Is that your usual M.O. to speak backwards?"_

 _His voice sounded genuinely curious. She found herself stammering in reply._

" _Uh…uh, yes, usually, it depends on…I don't always use it."_

" _Do you use it as a weapon? Or can you do other things with it?" He seemed to loom over her, demanding an answer._

" _I can…use it to learn things." Zatanna replied meekly._

" _Like what?"_

" _Oh, just…" Then it just occurred to her. "…things like your real name! Llet em ruoy laer eman!"_

" _Bruce Wayne," he replied immediately. Then his mouth dropped open._

 _She couldn't help herself this time: she barely managed to stifle the giggles with her hand at the look on his face, which was truly priceless. Which was probably a good thing, since his next expression indicated he just might punch her right in the nose. She raised her hands defensively. His real name had meant nothing to her, not then, not until she thought about it later..._

" _Why!" The Batman's big hands clenched into fists and he took an angry step forward towards her, his voice roaring. "Why would you do such a thing?"_

" _Hold on! I'm sorry! Really I am! I just couldn't….I just wanted to know who you really were, is all. I won't tell a soul, I promise!" Zatanna said, very fast._

 _He just glared at her, his teeth clenched from what she could see of his face not hidden by the cowl. There were a few seconds of very tense silence. Then, she ventured timidly_

" _So…do I get to join?"_

Zatanna didn't know if Bruce had ever told the others the details of their first meeting (she doubted it), but without it ever being announced in a big, grand way, she soon found her way onto the Watchtower and the Hall of Justice, and met a ton of really interesting people, to say the least. At first she'd thought they'd be standoffish, but most were really friendly (except that big birdman alien). But she hadn't really had a chance to do anything until Batman had disappeared. Then...

"I should have told you earlier," Bruce said, bringing Zatanna back to herself. "I mean, I wanted you to know…I think of you as more than just a friend…I mean…"

Now Zatanna was really surprised. She saw that he was staring quite hard at his control panel, and seemed to be struggling for the right words. No wonder he wanted a communication blackout.

"You're not like the…the others." He finally said.

"Others?" Zatanna raised an eyebrow.

She almost thought she saw a blush run along his exposed jawline.

"Other women I've…dated. Don't think…please don't think I'm just using you, Zee. I just don't want you to be hurt. People around me, that…happens. I wanted you to know that before…in case something happens tonight," he added even more quietly.

Zatanna found herself at a loss for words. She hadn't expected Bruce to talk like this.

"Whatever happens," she found herself saying. "I won't have any regrets, for anything. I mean it."

Batman didn't so much as look at her or change expression, but she knew he had heard her. For a moment, just a moment, she wondered if she should confess what she did, when she first tried to seduce him...

A proximity alert in the cockpit went off and Bruce straightened, and she knew that he was now all Batman. She shivered, but only for a moment.

"We're almost there," he said. "I'm going to put us down behind that cleft."

They would still be at some distance from Fenderbrake's home. Bruce deftly landed the plane, and again it was such a vehicle that she almost didn't feel the landing. They exited quickly into the darkness.

Although it was night out, it was still very warm, the Santa Ana or 'devil' winds as they were known in this region of the country bringing hot weather and fire hazards. Zatanna saw the lights of the house as distant glowing pinpricks.

Batman stood beside her. She heard him talking to Cyborg. "Is he in the house? Can you provide a schematic now?"

"The heat signature is still there, someone moving from room to room. One person, I can't detect any more. For some reason, I'm having trouble developing a schematic of the house. Something about how it's built, I don't know."

"It doesn't matter," Zatanna said. "I can teleport us inside the home, like we'd planned, now that I've seen it."

Batman looked at her, his expression hard and unreadable in the dark. "Are you ready?"

Zatanna nodded. "Then let's go," he ordered.

She raised her hands and spoke one word: _"Yawa!"_

On the opposite side of the house, about equally far away as the Batplane, Flash and Hawkgirl kept a watch on the place from a vantage point half-hidden by a long-discarded traffic berm. So far it seemed quiet, a Chevy Suburban parked in the broad circular driveway. In the distance they heard the howling of coyotes, even fainter sounds of highway traffic, but for all intents and purpose the builder of this house had intended it to be isolated. Shayera, with her stronger hearing, thought she heard the sound of a TV inside the house, but nothing else.

They saw a shadow drop soundlessly and vertically down from the clouds – the Batplane.

"Man, if Batman finds out we're here we're going to be toast. We're not supposed to be here." Barry Allen muttered, hopping from foot to foot. Hawkgirl said nothing to that, watching the house as carefully as…well, as a hawk, he thought. "You haven't said why you think we ought to be here, do you suspect a trap?"

"Wouldn't you, after everything that's happened?" Shayera muttered. "I didn't want to say this in front of everyone, but I don't think Batman's really thought this through as he should have. He should have the whole League out here, not just going solo."

"He's got Zatanna with him."

"I respect Zatanna's powers, but remember what happened the last time they went off together?" She wondered if she should tell Barry her Thanagarian partner's suspicions, but decided not to. Talak was just being ridiculous. Zatanna was not the danger here. She didn't want to believe it, anyway.

Barry looked unconvinced. "That was a fluke. Probably nothing's going to happen. This Fenderbrake guy, he's just a doctor, even if he's working hand-in-glove with Waller. He might have a gun, but I bet he's not even trained."

Shayera shrugged. "Well, then, we made a little extra trip. Beats watching TV, anway."

Barry laughed. "You might be right! Anway, I heard good news: Superman's going to be back soon!"

Hawkgirl looked surprised. "What, you mean his powers have come back?"

"Um…no, but Diana convinced him to come back and work. I guess she got tired of him being gone."

"Huh," she murmured. "Well…it would do for him to put on the suit and appear in front of people. Half the planet thinks he's dead, and the other half thinks there's some conspiracy going on."

"Batman would never allow that. One nutball firing a gun at him, and…"

"I know," Shayera sighed. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I feel sad for your people. I don't meet that many races so suspicious and angry of people trying to help them."

"Yeah. It's just our history I guess." Barry looked embarrassed.

Shayera felt abashed and tried to change the subject. "Any word on when Green Lantern will be back?" He still had not returned from Oa.

Barry shook his head. "He sent a little message, saying he was still waiting for an audience with the Guardians. They're keeping him waiting, sounds like. He sounded really impatient. I wonder if he's doing anything else."

Shayera snorted. "Partying it up with all his green friends while we pick up the slack."

"Nah, he wouldn't do that." But Barry smiled nonetheless.

They continued to watch the house. "Surely they're in by now?" Barry said.

"Maybe they're asking the good doctor some questions," Shayera replied. "I'm sure Zatanna can get the truth out of him, if Batman hasn't beaten it out of him already."

"I don't think he would hit an old guy."

"Hmph. Maybe that old guy though," Shayera's mind drifted again to Hawkman's allegations. She liked Zatanna, but it was true, she didn't know much about the 'magic' force that was practiced on this planet. She didn't really believe in it, but it apparently worked to some degree. Batman must believe in it too, or otherwise he wouldn't have asked Zatanna for assistance.

"Why is Batman so interested in Zatanna?" She heard herself asking, and some part of her was surprised she voiced that thought aloud.

Barry of course thought she was asking him. "Uh...well...it must have something to do with these weird happenings, like we discussed. But...if you mean personally...I don't know if that's really true," he added slowly. He realized a part of him had been wondering that as well. "I never thought-"

Suddenly all the lights in the house went off and the immediate area was bathed in darkness. Both Flash and Barry started.

"What's going on?" Shayera exclaimed.

"Looks like Bats and Zee are in," Barry said quickly. He braced himself, expecting to hear gunfire, but for a tense minute there was nothing but silence.

"I don't like this," Shayera said ominously. "We better get down-"

A hideous sound then boomed out from somewhere inside the house, a sound that neither Flash or Hawkgirl had ever heard before, something that sounded like a cross between a thunderclap and a scream.

"What the hell!" Goosebumps had risen all over Barry's skin.

Shayera stared with wide eyes at the darkened house. She could detect no movement, and heard nothing else, but there was a glow she could detect through the windows, she thought she saw a light…

"Let's go!" She shouted. "They're in trouble! I know it!"

 _To be continued…_

* * *

 **[A/N: Another short chapter (with a cliffhanger!) but I wanted to get something out before the end of the month! What the heck is going in the doctor's house will be revealed soon! I am not sure what chapter to write next, as I am toying with the idea of a Harley/Joker interlude, or I may go back to where we left Diana and Clark and make sure they're ok! Again, would love any readers' input, and thanks so much for continuing to read the story! Please review as always!]**


	10. Chapter 10 - The Resonator

**Chapter 10 – The Resonator**

"I have harnessed the shadows that stride from world to world to sow death and madness…"

\- "From Beyond," H. P. Lovecraft

Batman didn't feel any especially odd sensation when Zatanna teleported him into the home of Dr. Fenderbrake. Although her magickal way of transport felt no different than using the Watchtower teleporter, he sometimes thought that he could actually feel its unique sensation - like a small adrenalin rush – whenever she used her magick on him. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling. He realized he had instinctively closed his eyes when Zatanna had spoken backwards.

He opened them.

He was in what looked to be the main living room of the house. It was tastefully decorated - the furniture and the other furnishings looked opulent without being too ostentatious or flashy, with everything decorated in a style that suggested Old World European. Clean and yet looked barely lived in. All the lights were on, and a large flat-screen TV on the wall was tuned in to FOX News. No security alarms went off.

He found himself surprised, although he supposed there was no reason to be. What had he expected, shadows with pentacles on the walls and black candles? There was nothing he saw that even hinted at anything occult, or illegal for that matter.

Instead, he quickly assessed his surroundings particularly the means of egress should it be necessary. There were two large windows that looked out onto the driveway, and an ordinary front door. There was a hallway, extending into an equally well-appointed kitchen, although it didn't look used, and a staircase leading to the upper floor of the house.

"Where is he?" He heard Zatanna say.

Batman turned to her and asked curtly, "Do you sense magick?"

"What? No. No, I mean…it's just a house."

"This is Cyborg," Batman heard in his cowl, the acoustics so finely-tuned it sounded like he was standing next to him instead of hundreds of miles in space. "Target's upstairs but he's heading in your direction."

"He's coming," He said. "Be ready."

"For what?"

Batman glared at Zatanna but before he could retort, they heard footsteps and then the gray-haired doctor they both remembered from the Australian A.R.G.U.S. facility walked into the room from another room down the hallway. At first he didn't see them, with his head bent and his attention taken up by the book he was holding. Finally he looked up, and the book dropped from his hands. Bruce saw it was a history of the American Southwest.

The look of surprise – and recognition - on his face was relatively gratifying for the Dark Knight.

"You!" Fenderbrake managed to blurt out, taking a step back. Then he seemed to reconsider running away. Wisely.

"Dr. August Fenderbrake," Batman said mildly, although every syllable contained a veiled threat. "We'd like a few words with you."

The older man didn't move or speak, staying stock still. His eyes drifted to a cabinet in the corner, its drawers closed.

"I wouldn't try it. I suggest you do as he says," Zatanna warned.

"What-what are you doing here?" Fenderbrake finally managed to say in an outraged voice. "You have no right to be here-!"

" _Tis nwod."_

The man's legs buckled, and he sat straight down onto his leather sofa. His eyes widened and he looked surprised and wary, but Bruce didn't see any fear in the man's eyes - at least not yet. He was either very arrogant, or very confident. He would soon have reasons to be neither, Batman thought. He intended to get the information he came for.

"What you two are doing is illegal, holding me against my will, kidnapping-"

"Please!" Zatanna folded her arms, her eyes narrowing. "After the stunt you've pulled, you've hardly the room to talk!"

"I obey the orders of my superiors. I am not in charge of any 'stunt' you're talking about."

"Spoken like a good Nazi."

Batman approached him with measured steps and Fenderbrake's attention darted to him, suspicious.

"You know why we're here: I want to know exactly what your role in A.R.G.U.S. is, Doctor, and I want to know what Amanda Waller is planning next."

He shook his head. "I'm only a doctor, I serve as Ms. Waller's Director of Medical Research, that's all. I am not privy to her plans."

"Bullshit!"

Anger – no, more like _rage_ – suddenly swelled up in Zatanna, as she hadn't felt in a long time. She was reminded of the pain she'd suffered while a prisoner of Waller's: the surprise attack that almost fatally injured her, and the compelling of her magickal powers to open the doorway into Pnakoutos against her will.

"You're no doctor! If you are, well, you're…you're a terrible one! Do you think we don't know the truth? Do you think _I_ don't?"

Fenderbrake stared at her as if she were the maid who'd suddenly complained about the job. She found she had to resist the urge to hit him.

"I repeat - I'm only a physician," he replied slowly, in a calm and careful voice, as if he was dealing with a lunatic. "I oversee the health care of A.R.G.U.S. employees and I perform physical and mental assessments of their other clients. That is all."

"I don't believe you!"

"I don't know what you're talking about-"

Zatanna waved a hand sharply. _"Tuhs pu!"_

The doctor's jaw snapped closed with an audible click of teeth. She reached into her jacket and pulled out her wand. His eyes widened.

"Oh, I think you know what I can do with this," she said menacingly. "I can do some nasty things with this. Would you like me to tell you?"

The tip of the wand began to glow with an eerie blue light. The doctor visibly tried to speak but her spell held him silent.

"I can pull your skeleton out through your skin, or set your blood on fire," Zatanna's voice was ice, as the very air around her seemed to crackle with magickal energy. "So I suggest you cooperate."

Batman said nothing but appraised his colleague silently. She seemed genuinely furious with the man, but then she had good reason. For the first time he wondered if she was capable of really, _really_ hurting someone, to the point of killing. He didn't think she would, but…

Batman silently chastised himself for not quite being sure of that, beforehand. He couldn't let that happen, not even to this man…but for the time being, let the doctor sweat.

"Well? Oh," Zatanna said. "You can talk now: _kaeps._ "

Fenderbrake gasped: "I have nothing to say to you. You people are criminals!"

"Hah!" Zatanna glared at him, her grip tightening on her wand, the tip glowing more intensely as if matching her emotions. "How many people have you killed? You and A.R.G.U.S., you're all no better than a gang!"

Fenderbrake sniffed. "If you kill me or injure me in any way, Miss Waller will know what you have done. If I don't show up for work tomorrow, or the next day and the day after that, she'll come to the same conclusion. You can't get away with this. You had best surrender and I am sure the government will be lenient with you. Tell them you were misled by the Superman alien, and it will be taken into consideration."

"Superman," Zatanna pointed the wand at him. "That's you're real target isn't it?"

"The mission of A.R.G.U.S. is to deal with alien threats. He is a threat no matter what lies he and your organization repeat..."

This was all too pat, somehow, Batman thought, as Zatanna and Fenderbrake continued to argue. His words sounded rehearsed, as if repeating a script he'd previously memorized in case he was captured. If Fenderbrake was truly who he suspected he was…this all meant nothing to him, really. Time for something different.

" _Mgtang_ ," Batman said.

Fenderbrake abruptly stopped talking, his head jerking towards the Dark Knight, staring hard at him.

Zatanna likewise was visibly jolted; she nearly dropped her wand in shock, the light of her wand dissipating as her focus dropped. Her eyes were wide in disbelief. Bruce ignored her and kept his attention focused on the doctor. He spoke again, the way he'd practiced in private in his library.

" _Mgtang, aghil gh'sewr wrl'pofth fthimguh."_ The coarse and guttural consonants hung in the air for a long moment.

"Where did you learn that?" Fenderbrake demanded in a low voice.

"Batman, don't-" Zatanna began nervously.

He raised a gloved hand, stopping her. "I see you recognize the language, Doctor Fenderbrake. Are you going to insist again that you're 'just a doctor'?"

Suddenly, Batman's arm shot out and he grabbed the front of the doctor's sweater. He roughly yanked the man back to his feet, slammed him against the wall.

"Director Waller never tried to utilize alien technology before," Batman accused. "She didn't have the knowledge or skills to find a place like Pnakoutos. So why now?"

"I should think that was obvious," Fenderbrake replied. "As I said: the mission of A.R.G.U.S. is to defend humanity against any and all threats. Why shouldn't we learn to use the technology of other, advanced races to defend ourselves?"

"Against the Justice League?"

Fenderbrake stared coolly at Batman. "Especially the Justice League. The most powerful metahumans all in one place. Therefore you draw attention to yourselves. Unwelcome attention."

"You're lying," Zatanna said angrily. "You people don't care about self-defense, you want weapons! You don't want to defend humanity, you want power!"

Fenderbrake returned his attention to her and she felt a shiver as those ice-cold glittering eyes fixed on her.

"Knowledge is power. The greatest knowledge gives the greatest power."

Fenderbrake looked back at Batman. "As your...friend seems to understand."

Batman tightened his grip on the man's shirt.

"You're going to share some of that knowledge with us tonight," he said.

Fenderbrake stared at him for another moment. Batman didn't waver in his grip or his focus. Zatanna realized she was holding her breath.

"Since you know the Aklo," he slowly nodded. "Of course I will...share. It is the least I can do for a...scholar such as yourself."

Zatanna stared in astonishment as Bruce released his grip on the doctor.

"Batman, what are you doing?" She whispered.

He didn't answer her, his eyes watching Fenderbrake closely as he re-adjusted his crooked collar, smoothed back his iron-grey hair.

"I ask you again, Doctor - I want to know what Waller is planning."

"Director Waller intends to make alliances with certain…entities that may prove helpful in our cause," Fenderbrake replied, as casually as discussing a fantasy football lineup with a friend. His tone had completely changed, the frantic denials of just a minute ago were gone. Now he sounded very cool and collected. Zatanna didn't like it. "The Great Race of Yith might have been one of them, had not the Kryptonian destroyed them. That was a...serious setback."

Zatanna stepped aside and turned her head. "Cyborg, can you hear this?" She whispered.

There was no response, only a garbled crackle. That wasn't reassuring to her. She wanted to tell Batman but he wasn't paying attention to her.

"The Yith would have destroyed humanity," Batman growled. "There was no choice."

For the first time Fenderbrake offered a thin smile, as chill as his eyes. "I thought there was always a choice."

Batman ignored him. "These 'alliances' you're talking about: what others?"

Fenderbrake gave him a contemptuous small smile. "It depends."

"On what?"

"On who's listening."

"You're crazy," Zatanna said in a shaky voice. "You have no idea what you're meddling with." She could almost say the same for Bruce, she thought, but didn't.

Fenderbrake merely shrugged and gestured towards the interior of his house. "I would like to show you something. No tricks, I want to just offer what you desire: real knowledge."

"No!"

Zatanna grasped Batman's arm. "Don't listen to him! He's lying-"

"I have no reason to lie. Your partner knows what I am saying is true. I can see he knows much more than he has told you. Why do you think he hasn't shared with you... sorceress?"

Fenderbrake replied. His eyes swiveled to her and he intoned, _"Mglw'niu-"_

Zatanna reached out and slapped him, hard. His head barely moved. Batman grabbed her arm and pulled her back and restrained her.

"Zatanna!"

"You dare not say those words! You bastard, you-"

Batman clapped a hand over her mouth. She struggled, eyes wide, but he held her tightly. He bent close to her ear.

"Let me handle this. I know what I'm doing. That's an order!"

Fenderbrake had recovered his dignity. He raised his arms in a gesture of surrender.

"I'm unarmed, as you can see. I'm years older than either of you. I certainly can't fight you."

Batman stared hard at Fenderbrake. "If you're lying, Doctor-"

"I don't think I can outrun you either," Fenderbrake said. "I am also very sure that your Justice League friends are monitoring this place very closely as well. I'm no soldier."

Batman glanced meaningfully at Zatanna. She glared at him with her eyes but she nodded reluctantly. He removed his hand.

"Very well, Doctor. What do you want to show me?"

Fenderbrake stared hard at the Batman. "David Kent built something while he was under...certain influences. It was confiscated from the home in Orange County where he was allowed to live following his recovery from the Southeast Asian theater."

"Why do you have it?" Bruce demanded.

"As you intimated, I do perform other functions than medical. I am a scientist and I conduct research," Fenderbrake nodded. "As I imagine so are you, to be so...fluent. Please follow me."

Zatanna reluctantly followed Batman and the doctor deeper into the house, again not seeing anything unusual although she well-knew he would be scanning everything for traps with whatever devices he had in that pointy-eared cowl of his. She was doing so too, although she continued not to detect anything magickal. That didn't mean anything, though. The servants of the Outer Darkness could not always be detected so easily.

She trembled at the memory of Bruce speaking the Aklo – she had no idea he knew more of the words. She had no doubt that he had picked up more of that accursed language through the damned collection in his library. That would have to be dealt with later. That Dr. Fenderbrake appeared to understand what Batman had said did not improve her mood.

They didn't go far - it was an interior room of the house, not the basement at least. The walls were of a white metallic substance, like a lab room although there was nothing in the room except some storage boxes and a round table in the center. The object on top of it resembled an old-fashioned console TV set (although it looked like something disassembled and put together haphazardly), topped by a large hollow cylinder. It rested there cold and silent. Batman's first thought was that it was some kind of electrical device although didn't see any cables or power connectors attached to it.

Batman glanced quickly aside to Zatanna, saw her look of puzzlement, deducing that she didn't know what it was either.

"What is this?" He demanded.

"I believe Mr. Kent must have constructed it from random objects, and electronic equipment he found in the Kents's house," the doctor explained. "It's not at all very complex...but it's very effective. It's not the first of its kind. I must say I was surprised to have found it. I am sure it explains why Kents' relatives went missing."

 _He doesn't know who the Kents really are,_ Batman thought, relieved, but he still felt chilled although not sure why. His attention was attracted by the strange device - he was certain that it was a machine of some sort. "What does it do?"

"The first man who invented such a device called it a _resonator_ , although he may have been incorrect in the exact appellation. I believe it simply functions as an instrument of clarity. It opens the 'doors of perception', as William Blake once described it."

Zatanna froze. "What are you talking about?"

"What is it doing here and not in S.T.A.R. labs?"

Fenderbrake turned and looked at Batman.

"It is for my own protection, a kind of home security system. In case any of you people tried to attack me in my own home. I feel I was a little foresightful in that matter."

"What-" Zatanna began. She didn't have the opportunity to finish.

The lights went out, throwing everything into pitch darkness.

Batman's night-vision enhanced cowl immediately kicked in, and for him the room became bathed in eerie greenish hues. He could see nothing but he sensed the doctor fleeing away to the opposite room. Instinctively his hand dropped down to his belt, gripping one of his sharp batarangs and flung it. He was certain it struck home, he thought he saw the man stumbling, but then he was gone, vanished, where to he didn't see.

"Doctor!" He shouted. There was no response, but he did hear something he had not heard previously: a deep tonal hum, like a generator but set very low almost at the periphery of hearing, echoing around the room. He was certain it was coming from what Fenderbrake had called Kent's _resonator_.

Although he couldn't see her, Zatanna's voice was close to him. He could feel her at his left, her hand gripping his shoulder tightly.

"Don't shout!" She whispered. "Don't draw attention to yourself!"

"What's happened?" Batman murmured in a low voice. "Where is Fenderbrake?"

"Never mind him right now!"

"What do you mean by do not draw attention?"

"Do you see them?" Her voice was frightened.

Batman was confused. There was nothing that he saw in the room, perhaps there were some motion-activated weapons? That would have been a lot for a mere 'Director of Medical Research' to assemble in his home but he wouldn't make any assumptions. He had been mistaken in thinking that the doctor wouldn't try some means of escape, which was galling.

He looked at Zatanna, saw her raise her hands. In the night-vision lenses he thought he saw her eyes glow.

"Fenderbrake is gone, we need to find him! Cyborg, do you read me?"

No response. There was something jamming the transmission. He cursed inwardly. "Zatanna let's go! We need to get Fenderbrake!"

"No, wait!"

"What for-?"

Batman saw them, then.

They were floating in the air, at first just a few swam into focus. They varied in size, from a foot long to larger ones. His night vision revealed them as shining with a glowing pinkish color. They resembled deep undersea creatures, the ones that existed so far underwater that the light of the sun never reached them, eels and dragonfish and vampire squids, only these were floating in the air, all around him. Their movements were quick and graceful. Most of them seemed to be eyeless, or their bodies had one dark orb placed at the center of their triangular-shaped heads.

For now, they appeared to ignore him and Zatanna as if they didn't sense their presence at all. Dismayed, Bruce saw one pass right through his arm and felt nothing.

"What are they? Where did they come from?" He whispered.

"The machine. You've got to switch it off somehow. They don't see us now, but the longer it runs..."

Slowly, Batman approached the thing on the table. Even as it hummed, he could see the air shimmering around it, and the vibration it was emanating was increasing, becoming louder and more powerful with every second.

He tried to move towards it but he was finding it harder to move with every step, it was like trudging through thick mud and he felt his head pound in an in unpleasant way, giving him a headache. He stepped back and the pain decreased.

"I can't get close to it," Batman hissed. He reached into his belt for an explosive.

"No!" Zatanna said. "Didn't you hear what I said? You'll draw them to us!"

As if in response to her voice, the swimming creatures seemed to finally notice their presence. They swarmed towards them, just curious at first. Bruce saw their fanged maws open and he flung a batarang at the closet one, saw it pass through the creature's body as if through an illusion, just like it has passed through his arm.

It shot forward, its needlelike jaws arrowing for Batman's face. He raised his arms instinctively.

 _"Tcetorp lla ni siht erehps!"_

Glowing blue light surrounded Batman and Zatanna; momentarily the creatures darted away by the sudden light, but then they swarmed in larger numbers around them, and this time their eeth and feelers tried to gnash through the sphere but were unable to penetrate the magickal defense.

Batman lowered his arms. Zatanna kept hers upraised, bluish light pouring from her hands and wand.

"I can't keep them out for long," She gasped. "You've got to destroy that resonator!"

* * *

 _Outside_

Hawkgirl and the Flash were interrupted in their discussion of the latest Kardashian scandal when they noticed the lights going off at the doctor's house.

"Whoa, what's going on?" Barry wondered aloud. Even the outside security lights had gone off. They listened but they didn't hear anything.

"Batman must have cut the power," Shayera mused. "I wonder if they...Cyborg, can you tell me what's going on in there?"

There was a crackle in her earpiece. Cyborg's voice barely came through the static distorting his voice. "This is Cy-...we have something...stand by..."

"You're breaking up," the Thanagarian said irritably. "Boost the signal, please."

For a moment the transmission was clear. "Hawkgirl, there's some interference coming from within the house. I...don't know what it is, exactly. We've got another problem, too."

"What? What's going on?"

"Trouble in...Dakota...Superman is..."

Static crackled, then...silence.

Shayera and Barry looked at each other. The house in the distance stayed dark.

"I'll, uh, go on ahead," Barry said. Shayera nodded, grabbing her mace.

"I'll be right behind you!"

* * *

 _The Doctor's House_

Batman managed to reach the table the resonator rested on; even that nearly took all his energy. The thrumming in his head was almost unbearable. Now that that the creatures were aware of them, they battered at the protective magickal circle like mosquitos attacking a tent, voracious, hungry to get at them.

"Hurry!" Zatanna urged. "I-I can't hold it for long!" She was extending the sphere to accommodate him but it was taking all of her effort.

Batman grunted as he struggled to reach into his belt, to place a timed explosive charge on the machine. Every movement was painful, his head felt like it would explode. He saw colors flash in front of his eyes, and couldn't tell if they were real or in his head. They nearly blinded him. He felt moisture running down his face, and couldn't be sure if it was sweat, or blood, or both.

The house shook, even as the resonator's hum increased tenfold; it seemed to be drawing in power from the very atmosphere itself, generating the field that was causing these strange monsters to manifest from wherever they came from. The machine didn't look to have any moving parts, anything that revealed its workings. Some deep part of his mind was fascinated by it - he wanted to take it back to his cave and study it in depth.

Batman couldn't think about that now - he had to destroy this thing before it killed them.

With a herculean effort he slammed the charge on the table - he wasn't able to actually touch the machine itself.

"Zatanna, I've done it!" Batman shouted. "Get us-"

Before he could finish, he saw a red flash dart into the room. Batman saw Flash's surprised face as he entered the room.

"No!" Zatanna shouted.

The things saw him too. They immediately turned their attention from them to their Flash, swarming towards him like piranha towards their prey in the water. Batman heard Barry scream, just as the bluish magickal sphere protecting him and Zatanna dissipated.

Batman heard Zatanna shouting something but he couldn't make out the words. He reached out for her and grabbed the hem of her tailcoat.

"The charge is set!" He shouted. "Get us out of here!"

Even as he shouted, he was running out of the room, dragging her with him. Then he saw Hawkgirl standing over Barry, who was lying on the ground, nearly covered by that pinkish glow, swinging her mace, howling in her native language. The mace swung right through the creatures, but they darted back from the Nth-metal nonetheless. Zatanna in turn grabbed Shayera by her wing. More of the creatures surrounded them, bigger ones, and Batman thought he saw one five feet long, the size of a shark, bursting through the disappearing wall, its multiple eyes shining with the night-vision glow...

 _"Esoht ni siht moor, yawa!"_

Another flash of light, but this one was less onerous than what was in the damned house. Batman opened his eyes to the darkness, but it was the dark of night, lit by a full moon, a quarter distance from the house. He shut off his night-vision. He could see well in the moonlight.

Hawkgirl gasped out, "What happened-?"

Shayera did not have time to finish the sentence - there was a terrific boom, and an explosion ripped through the house, sending debris, smoke and fire high in to the sky. The ground under their feet shook, and bits of wood, plastic and metal fell not far from them. Now, the fires lit the chaparral around them.

Batman collapsed to one knee, his head still throbbing with pain. He felt moisture on his face, and wiped it with the back of his hand: his nose was bleeding profusely.

He looked at Zatanna; she looked stunned and dazed, but she was not wounded as far as he could see.

The Flash, however, was lying on the ground, Shayera kneeling next to him. He was groaning in pain. The redness on his costume was not just from the color of his suit.

"Is he all right?"

Shayera was already administering first aid. "We need to get him to the sickbay, he's bleeding badly." She said shortly.

Barry managed to raise himself up on his elbows, wincing as Shayera jammed a hypo of painkillers into his thigh. "What happened in there?" He managed to say.

"I'm…not sure," Batman said. "We confronted Fenderbrake in his house. He took us to a room where he had something he said that David Kent had built. The lights went out…then the air was filled with those…things."

"Those 'things' nearly chewed Barry's legs off," Shayera said furiously. "Where the hell is that damn doctor?"

Batman strode a distance away from them, scanning the horizon intensely, adjusting the lenses on his cowl. Fire burned brightly in what was left of the house, but he saw no one else. Fortunately, not even the things that had swarmed throughout Fenderbrake's room. The destruction of the resonator seemed to have cut off wherever they came from.

"Did you see him?" Batman demanded.

"No," Barry winced again. "We didn't see anyone. We saw the lights go out in the whole house, and we went in."

Batman glared at him. "What were you and Shayera doing here?"

"Uh, just backup, in case you needed it, in case it was a trap like the last time you and Zatanna went out to confront someone. Looks like it was another one too."

"What were those things?" Shayera asked.

"The machine in his study, his spare room or whatever," Zatanna said. "Somehow…it let them in."

"Let them in? From where? Some kind of a... another dimensional portal? Or space? I've never seen anything like those before." Shayera's voice was shaky. "My mace passed right through them. But Barry was real enough to them, it looks like."

"I guess would be the easiest answer, yes," Zatanna murmured quietly. Batman shot her a sharp look, but she said nothing else.

"Let's get Barry up to the Watchtower," he said. "We'll talk later. He needs medical attention now."

"That doctor..."

"He's gone, for now," Batman said. "I don't see him."

Shayera nodded towards the burning house. "Or he's burning up in there. His car is still there. He could be dead."

"I doubt it." Batman said grimly.

* * *

 _Watchtower...an hour later..._

"I think this has only confirmed what we suspected."

Batman was in the sickbay with Shayera, Barry, Zatanna and J'onn J'onzz. J'onn had insisted that Bruce have a full checkup although the nosebleed had stopped and the headache was gone. "Waller's pet doctor is in league with the forces that Zatanna described. He's the real motivation and danger behind Waller. We need to find him and stop him before he does worse damage."

"But he's disappeared. Are you sure he didn't get caught in the explosion?" J'onn asked.

"That's possible," Zatanna said quietly. "But I have a feeling he got away, somehow."

"Local police and firefighters are at the house," Shayera added. "I guess we'll learn through the news if they've found a body."

Batman turned to the Flash. "Are you sure you're ok?"

"A few stitches. I've had worse." Barry shrugged. Actually it had hurt quite a bit as those butt-uglies had torn into his flesh, but the less he thought about it the better.

"You and Hawkgirl shouldn't have come in the house," Batman said. "You're lucky to be alive."

"Yes, I think he knows that," Hawkgirl said. She didn't like being scolded by Batman, or anybody. "What happened with the comms?"

"Wonder Woman had an emergency of some sort," J'onn replied. "We needed to send some people out. There was a massive gas explosion in the northern United States."

Batman thought for a moment. "If Fenderbrake has gotten away, he'll get in touch with Waller. They will know we're onto them."

"This machine Dr. Fenderbrake had," J'onn mused. "Was this something he built?"

"No," Batman replied. "He said that it was built by David Kent, when he was under the control of the Yith. He called it a resonator. He said that it opened doors."

"It's evident that A.R.G.U.S. is trying to amass weapons like this," Hawkgirl sounded angry. "It's also clear they're willing to use it."

"We'll talk about this later," Batman said. "When everyone is here. Let me know what is happening with this emergency with Wonder Woman."

After the others had left and they were alone in the sickbay, Zatanna faced Bruce. She had been quiet during J'onn's examinations but now she looked angry.

"What have you done?" She demanded.

"What are you talking about?"

"Damn it, you know what I'm talking about! You used-" Zatanna lowered her voice, realizing she was shouting. "You used the Aklo words. Just where did you learn them?"

He didn't even have the decency to look her in the face when he replied, she thought. "I have my sources. You know that. I have an almost complete alphabet, I think, in one of my books. It's not that hard to learn, it's actually quite simple."

"Goddamn it," she shook her head. "Haven't you been listening to anything I've said? Obviously not!"

"I've heard you," he finally looked at her with his bloodshot eyes. "I know why you're upset but it doesn't matter how unpleasant you find it. It's just a tool. A tool we're going to need."

"No, not _just_ a tool!" She protested. "Do you think you can use it like one of your stupid batarangs?"

"No, I don't think it's like my batarangs," Batman replied, with irritation. "I'm aware of the risks."

"Do you? But you went ahead and used the speech anyway."

"You saw how Fenderbrake reacted. That proves he knows about this...this occult knowledge, the same as you."

"Not the same as me." Zatanna protested. "I don't go out looking for the knowledge of the Outer Darkness."

"No? You know about the Aklo, but I can't?"

"You're not-"

"A _homo magii_? Why? Does that give you some special protection?"

"No, it doesn't. But I've had more experience with it than you. Please, Bruce, don't pursue this anymore!"

"I can't do that, Zatanna. I won't risk the possibility that Waller can get her hands on this sort of alien technology."

"But you're putting yourself in danger." Zatanna bit her lip.

"I've done that many times before. I'll do it as long as I have to."

Zatanna said nothing, but she was clearly not pleased.

"Are you all right?" Bruce asked, more gently this time.

"I'm fine," Zatanna said quietly. "I'm not hurt."

She sighed. "I need to go home. I have rehearsals coming up starting tomorrow. We're rehearsing in Gotham this time."

"I know," Bruce said. He took her hand. "That why I wanted to suggest-"

The sickbay doors _whooshed_ open; surprised, Bruce and Zatanna turned to see Superman - Clark Kent, as he was in civilian clothes - storm into the sickbay. His left arm was in a crude sling and he had a bloody bandage over one eye. Wonder Woman was closely following him, their kid held in one arm.

"Clark, wait!" She shouted after her husband. But he didn't listen. Zatanna then saw how pissed he looked.

He stormed straight up to Bruce and pushed him roughly against the wall. Bruce was too startled to do anything but look surprised.

"Whoa, wait a minute, what's going on?" Zatanna cried.

"Bruce," Clark said grimly. "You've got some explaining to do!"

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **[A/N: To learn more about how David Kent built the Resonator, it's in my previous pic The Place Where the Black Stars Hang. Of course the whole idea comes from Lovecraft's short story "From Beyond" which I've borrowed and put in this chapter. Actually, the device in the short story didn't have a name the word 'resonator' comes from the movie adaptation starring Jeffrey Coombs, which is glorious B-move schlock! Anyway, yes Clark survived the explosion, and wants an explanation about why Wayne Enterprises was involved. Is the good doctor still alive? Quite probably. We'll learn what happens next...but up next is the Joker/Harley interlude! It's time for some humor in this story...hopefully! Of course I have Suicide Squad Joker/Harley on the brain...but they will play an interesting role in the story as you readers may see if you stick with me. Again, thanks so much for reading, and please review!]**


	11. Chapter 11 - Interlude

**Chapter 11 – Interlude**

"The universe is indeed comic …but the joke is on mankind."

\- H.P. Lovecraft (1921)

Harley Quinn was in a _terrific_ mood.

Harley had just finished her shopping for the gang's annual Christmas party. She was practically skipping and humming on her way back to the gang's Gotham City hideout. No one recognized or stopped her, or had the balls to, anyway. She didn't notice or care, or if she did, that facet of awareness was lost in the fevered maze that was her mind.

It had been a month since Harley and the gang had sprung the Joker from Arkham Asylum. They had plotted the breakout for months, meticulously planned for every potentiality. Above all, Harley counted on her former workplace continuing their criminally lax security procedures and hiring standards – after all, they'd hired _her_ , for chrissakes – and just as she expected nothing had changed since the days of her ill-fated employment.

Harley and a handpicked crew had gone in through the Deliveries Only gate (like no one had ever thought of _that_ before), and created a successful diversion, causing the crazed inmates to become so riled up that the orderlies fled rather almost immediately than trying to restore order – no one was going to risk life and limb for minimum wage that was for sure. The once-highly respected institution immediately descended into bedlam, with the patients out of control, staff desperately trying to escape, and the Joker gang shooting anything and anyone who got in their way.

In the midst of all the chaos, Harley had gone straight to the basement. She knew from prior experience where _he_ would be. It wasn't his first time at the rodeo so to speak – he was in solitary confinement on the lowest level of the ancient facility.

Her heart had been hammering in her chest as she rushed down the hallways and stairs, thinking of nothing except their reunion. Ever since Joker had been (re)committed during the past two years, he had mostly been catatonic, only snapping out of it sporadically when he wanted to give orders to the gang or cause some havoc to the boredom of routine that was Arkham Asylum. Then he would fall into his weird paralysis again, not speaking and not aware of anything around him. Harley knew (through judicious bribes to the orderlies) that the doctors couldn't explain it.

He had never once mentioned her.

It disturbed Harley. It was so unlike him, and unlike the last time he was incarcerated in this horrid place. Although her memories weren't necessarily reliable (for various reasons) she still vividly remembered when she had been a psychiatrist on Arkham's staff and aware of the rather…antiquated treatment methods Arkham Asylum still practiced. These were techniques that had long been discredited and disused elsewhere, but still remained in use at this old dump. Arkham was being stuck in the past and proud of it, and yet somehow managing to retain its license despite outcries from the medical profession elsewhere. The complaints were ignored by the city government, and even the feds had turned a blind eye. There was just no other place to put the 'crazies.' Gotham City was like that. She was afraid something had been done to him that she hadn't known about. If they had hurt her Puddin...she would make Arkham Asylum a smoking hole in the ground.

As Harley ran through the darkened hallways, hearing the screams and shouts, and smelling the smells (blood, piss, vomit, refuse, who knew what else) she unwillingly recalled that she might have played a part in his condition. She remembered the days when she had once been a bright-eyed internist named Harleen (whatever made her impoverished yet dimwitted parents name her _that_ she didn't know). She had purposely chose Arkham Aslyum as her first residency, hoping that its reputation as one of the toughest places to work would finally eliminate the stigma that came from being a beautiful blonde in a "man's professon" – that and having had to pay for school by dancing, and other things. She had dreams of a great career: her own practice, published articles in scholarly journals, conferences all around the world, of being that one doctor who had gone into Hell and come out intact.

Well, it hadn't quite worked out that way.

Harley had immediately disliked the place the moment she stepped within its walls. She almost thought she could personally sense the torments of the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of criminally insane inmates who had lived and died in this damp and cold prison (there was no other way to describe the place) over the decades. She had hoped to find professionalism and mentorship from the more experienced staff, but instead encountered the same kind of clique-ish backstabbing attitudes that had dogged her ever since grade school. Not one of them wanted to know her, much less be her friend or colleague. She had found herself relegated to the most menial tasks, given endless reams of paperwork to be typed, charted and filed. The computer system was hopelessly outdated as well, a relic of the Seventies. She hardly had any time to work one-on-one with the patients, and the only treatment plan was to keep them doped and sedated as much as possible, rather than engage in real therapy. Despair filled her, and she often cried herself to sleep in the tiny studio apartment which was all she could afford. Her classmates were all on their way to lucrative careers. It wasn't fair.

But then a ray of light had entered her life!

Harley smiled, thinking about the first time she met her Puddin. A hand rested on the large bump under her festive holiday sweater, and she patted it tenderly.

The infamous criminal, the Joker, had been captured by the vigilante Batman, found incompetent to stand trial, and duly committed to Arkham Asylum. However, not a single member of the staff wanted anything to do with him, since he had a reputation for being violent and otherwise playing "pranks" on them which ultimately resulted in high turnover of said staff, and many claims of workman's comp.

The Administrator then, a Dr. Joan Leland, was getting flak from her bosses high up in the Gotham City power structure. No one knew who the Joker was, and they'd demanded she uncover his identity or, they hinted, she could look for another job. Shit rolls downhill as they say, and she took it out on her staff, yelling at the senior psychiatrists, but no matter how much she threatened, they would not agree to treat the Joker. The one man who actually tried, a prestigious clinician from Switzerland, had come rushing out of the room in tears, the Joker cackling maniacally behind him. He'd quit right then and there and after that no one wanted anything to do with him. Harley later learned that he'd returned to Europe and quit the profession altogether, becoming a hotel manager instead.

Harley saw an opportunity where others saw a career-killer, and had asked Dr. Leland to give her a chance.

Instead of being pleased, Dr. Leland had only shrugged, and given her a weird look.

"If you want to give it a shot, go ahead," she said indifferently. "It's your funeral."

So she gave it a shot. Harley was resolved to solve the case of the Joker. She had half-expected to receive the same treatment as the Swiss shrink, but once she actually met the Joker, she saw what no one else did, what no one else _cared_ to see. A tortured soul, an artist, misunderstood by the world. Once he saw that she was willing to listen to him, he told her everything about himself, his childhood, his life. If anyone needed help, real help, it was him and she was ready to provide it. Their one-on-one talk-therapy sessions were the best she'd ever been part of. A pity she couldn't remember most of it now, but she was certain it was profound.

Nevertheless, Harley had been forced to administer the electroshock treatments prescribed by Dr. Leland, although she hated it. It broke her heart to see him strapped down to the operating table with those awful restraints, like he was Christ on the cross (or something). He'd begged with them – with her – to not do it anymore, that he would behave. He had looked directly at her when he'd pleaded for help.

"Please, doctor!" Joker had cried out as they'd secured him to the table, staring at her with his beautiful eyes. "Don't let them do this to me! You promised you wouldn't hurt me!"

Harley had just stood there helpless, nearly in tears as the barbaric electroshock treatments were applied and her love jerked uncontrollably on the table, moaning in pain through the leather strap clenched in his jaw. She could hardly write her notes she was so upset. Her supervisor caught her tearing up and chewed her ass.

"I've reviewed your notes. I can see you are incapable of objectivity in this case. Don't listen to him, Quinzel," Dr. Leland warned after summoning her to her office. "It's all an act, of course. He's playing with you."

"He's a human being, not an animal!" She'd cried. "Can't you see they're torturing him?! This is wrong! I want this stopped!"

But that old bitch just stared at her like she was some bleeding heart nut.

"Just administer the treatments like you've been told to do!" She snapped. "And I'm taking you off his case. I can't see you're doing any good. If we can't get the truth from him after this, at least we can prevent him from doing any further damage. I am going to schedule the lobotomy as soon as possible"

She was horrified. "You can't do that!"

"I can and I will. You are in clear violation of professional boundaries with that...that individual. If you persist in this wild fantasy that you can cure him, this will only spell the end of your tenure here!"

Harley was so distraught that she knew she had to help Joker, no matter what. She did whatever he asked afterwards.

The rest was history as they say.

It was her Puddin who had helped her see her true calling, to be his muse and his companion, always at his side. It wasn't his fault his genius went unrecognized by an uncaring world, and who could blame him if he reacted the only way he knew how? In a way, she could never blame him for his unpredictable moods and occasional outbursts, it was only the natural reaction of someone who had been so terribly mistreated as he was. She had played a role in that, as well-meaning as it was, and she was not going to let history repeat itself.

Harley had found the Joker as she'd expected, and to her vast relief, he seemed okay, if a little groggy. They'd doped him up, she was sure of it, but he was capable of running out of the cell with her and into the courtyard where the getaway van was waiting.

It would have been a perfect getaway if it hadn't been for that meddling security guard. Some doofus kid, probably thought he was going to get the key to the city by acting the hero. Instead of running away, like any normal person would, he'd grabbed his pistol and fired just as they were crossing the last few yards to the open door of the van.

She felt Mistah J fall against her and she grabbed him, then she had seen the small but spreading blotch of red on his thigh.

"NO!" She'd screamed. She'd immediately trained her gun on the guard and shot him. He fell with the first bullet but she didn't stop firing until the clip was empty and the guard's body riddled with bullets. How dare he hurt her angel! She ejected the clip and inserted another one, and would have just kept firing, she was so angry, but one of the gang members had dragged her and Joker into the van, and they pulled away, tires screeching.

"Mistah J!" She cried as he slumped against her, his gridded teeth clenched.

One of the henchmen eyed the wound even as he was driving.

"We need to get him to a doctor-"

"NO!" Harley screamed again. This time she aimed her gun at the back of the man's head. "Get us the hell out of here now!"

"All right, all right," he grumbled.

"You're gonna be all right, Puddin, I've got ya," Harley grabbed him and held him tight against her. "You're gonna make it, just hang on, hang on!"

"Harley…" He burbled but his words were muffled as Harley smushed his face against her ample breasts.

Another of the gang, one with some training as a medic, ripped open the Joker's sweatpants and examined the wound. "Looks like it went right through, a clean shot..."

Whatever else he said was drowned out by Harley's wailing.

"Tell me he's not going to die!" She howled. "He can't die! You hear that Puddin? You can't die on me! You're gonna live! Tell me he's gonna live!"

"He'll live," the gangster said, partly because it was true (it was only a 9mm round that had gone through his leg) and partly because Harley still had her gun trained on him and he had thoughts of living himself.

"You hear that Puddin? You're gonna live! We're gonna live, and get married, and have babies someday, I know it!" She smiled reassuringly at him.

Joker had smiled at her, and then promptly vomited right in her crotch.

The next couple of weeks had been a little touch and go, as Joker recovered from his bullet wound, and a corresponding fever. He grew very sick, making Harley frantic and she nursed him herself (well she had to, after she shot the doctor). At some points he had become delirious, and been raving about all sorts of things that Harley couldn't understand, something about traveling to distant parts in search of a mysterious object, as if he were Indiana Jones or somebody. Harley figured he'd been watching movies to keep busy while incarcerated, sometimes they had let the patients have movie night.

They had laid low in one of the Joker's amply furnished underground hideouts, and although there was lots of press surrounding Joker's latest escape, no one had even come close to uncovering their hideout. It was like a little recuperative vacation. Harley had gently tended the Joker as he convalesced, and although he could be a noncompliant patient at times, he recovered quite quickly. He slept a lot. While he recovered, they resumed their relationship, although sometimes he needed some peace and quiet, which Harley enforced. He recovered quickly and the raving delirium disappeared much to her and everyone's relief. He had taken up reading old books, and preferred the old-fashioned kind.

"He doesn't want the Kindle anymore," said Harley one day, rubbing the bruise on her temple where he'd thrown the latest model at her. "Just go rob a library or something."

Yes, he was still her Puddin! Now it was the holiday season, and she couldn't be happier that they were reunited, and home together.

Harley soon found herself in the warehouse district of Gotham City; only a few more side streets, into an abandoned warehouse, and down a long disused stairwell, and then she was in another world. Beneath the streets of Gotham was practically another city, as comfortable as any corporate boardroom or hotel. She saw most of the Joker gang seated in one of the recreational room playing cards. Johnny Frost, Joker's chief henchman, was there. He looked up as she entered.

"How did the shopping trip go?" He asked.

Harley grinned and lifted the bottom of her sweater. The butterball turkey fell out and landed on the table with a frozen thunk. The gang all laughed.

"Christmas dinner!" She proclaimed. She emptied out the rest of her coat of cans of cranberry sauce and pumpkin mix. "I guess the Whole Foods are terrible at spotting shoplifters, who knew? Where's Mistah J?"

"He's still in his room. He hasn't come out all day."

"He hasn't?" She shrugged. "Well, get cooking. I'll see if he wants anything."

Frost shook his head as he watched Harley skip down the hallway singing to herself. That bitch was just as nutty as the boss, and just as unpredictable. Some days the two of them would fight like cats and dogs, so viciously that he was ready to go get the mop and bucket, certain he'd have to clean the brains of one or the other off the wall. Other days they'd be cuddling together like the sappiest lovestruck teenagers, listening to Journey's "Open Arms" and proclaiming sweet nothings. Or, that would happen in the same day.

The large and luxuriously appointed bedroom they shared was at the far end of the hall. It was decked out like the blingiest, flashiest pimp's boudoir, in rich colors of purple and red and gold.

"Puddin?"

Her Puddin was standing in front of the floor-length diamond-encrusted mirror, his arms folded across his lean and muscular, tatted torso. He wore a tense yet thoughtful expression, his forehead furrowed. She knew that that meant he was plotting something.

"Whatchyou thinking about?"

"Batsy," Joker murmured.

"Oh yeah? What about him?"

"Don't you think it odd, Harley, that our dear friend hasn't come by to see us?"

Harley thought for a moment. It was true, the first thing they'd expected was that Batman would make it a priority to return Joker back to Arkham Asylum. He would scour the underground for them, patrolling the streets, and the skies above. His unreasonable hatred of her angel was well-known. So she'd planned every contingency in case of that. There were alarms on every inch of their hideouts, their properties scattered throughout the City. But not one of them had gone off, or even detected any pursuit. It was as if he hadn't known, or been bothered to care.

"Hey, yeah," Harley muttered. "What's up with that? Is he ignoring us?"

Joker said nothing for a moment, but she could hear his breathing change slightly. For some people that might mean the difference between life and death.

"No, I don't think so, Harls. I think he's just...preoccupied."

"With what?" Harley demanded, feeling slightly outraged. "What's more important than you, Puddin?"

"I don't know but I do know one thing."

"What's that, sugar?"

He looked at her and smiled, his metallic teeth glinting. He had smiled like that once before, just before he'd applied the juice to her brain.

"If Batsy won't come to us, we'll go to Batsy."

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **[A/N: A short interlude to the long wait, but I've had a lot of work come up, so haven't been able to write as much as I have. If you've kept up with the reading so far, you may notice that a month has elapsed now between the events at Dr. Fenderbrake's house and what happens in this interlude. So we'll see what has occurred since then with our heroes, particularly with Bruce and Zatanna in the next chapter. There will also be a lot of flashbacks which will explain what happened at Clark's work-camp. It seems the Joker will involve himself in Bruce's life again, look out! I have the Suicide Squad Joker and Harley in mind, and can't wait for the extended edition. Also there will be a major new character appearing in the next chapter, and we'll see if he turns out to be a friend or a foe. Thanks again for reading this far, and please review!]**


	12. Chapter 12 - The Billionaire's Mistress

**[Happy New Year Everyone!]**

 **Chapter 12 – The Billionaire's Mistress**

 _Gotham City_

 _One month after the raid on Dr. Fenderbrake's house…_

With the fall of the curtain, and the roar of the crowd's third and final standing ovation ringing in their ears, Zatanna Zatara and her fellow artists rushed backstage after their final bows, laughing, eager to celebrate with the after-party following her final Gotham City show. Her shows had proved a great hit, as nearly all had sold-out, and with glowing reviews from the fans and the critics. Zatanna felt she had done really well with her new act, her crew had performed flawlessly as usual, not missing a beat. Now, it was time to party!

Someone handed her a towel to wipe off the sweat, which she accepted gratefully. She paused a moment to observe everything. Backstage was crowded with people: friends and relatives of her crew, and lots of Gotham City's most famous artists and celebrities in attendance. A DJ was setting up his equipment. Champagne was popped and flowing liberally, and there were big trays of fancy desserts circulating; there was a good vibe to everything, she saw.

Zatanna spotted local TV personality Vicky Vale interviewing her manager Charly off in a corner. She'd done an interview with her when she began her run in Gotham. She was a nice-enough person, although Zatanna knew she would be more than happy to broadcast any juicy scandal if she could uncover one.

Vale hadn't asked any questions about Bruce Wayne then; she was probably kicking herself now, ever since it become public that they were something of an "item." No doubt, she would try to snag her for another interview if she could. Zatanna hurried in the opposite direction.

She didn't see Bruce, although he'd promised to be here. She hadn't seen him in the audience either. As far as she knew, he'd only attended her debut show, although she was well-aware he'd kept an eye on the venue, "just in case" he'd said. She couldn't imagine why, no one really knew she was associated with the Justice League, although with the Joker's recent escape from Arkham Asylum, he was taking no chances. But nothing had happened.

However it would be just like the suspicious old fart if he was watching her this very second. She knew he was keeping her under surveillance, although he never said so…and it wasn't solely for her protection, as ever since she had moved into the Manor, a month ago…

 _Zatanna was startled to see Superman storm into the sickbay on the Watchtower, she'd thought he was on hiatus in the Midwest or somewhere. He was in 'normal' clothes, but now they were torn and splattered with blood. Wonder Woman was close behind, also dressed in civilian clothes and carrying a bawling Jon in her arms. Before she could say anything he confronted Bruce, and he did not look happy._

 _"What's wrong?"_

 _"You tell me," Clark growled. "You're in charge of Wayne Enterprises, or aren't you?"_

 _From what Zatanna could follow, something terrible had happened at Clark's work-camp in the Dakotas: a massive explosion devastated the camp and many people were injured or killed. Superman and Wonder Woman witnessed it up close. It was all in some way related to Bruce's business: some bigshot director or other had ordered drilling and it had gone very wrong. It all sounded horrific to her. Now, Clark wanted answers._

 _"My God," Zatanna had gasped in shock. "You could have been killed!"_

 _J'onn J'onzz spoke up gently. "We have our members helping to evacuate the rest of the camp, although the cause of the disaster will take some time to uncover."_

 _"I know the cause!" Clark still sounded very pissed off. "Your flunky ordered us to drill and he was very insistent it be done right away. What was he looking for there? What's going on?"_

 _"I don't know," Bruce had looked very grave, and a little perturbed as well. "I wasn't aware of any important project Wayne Enterprises is involved there."_

 _"You don't know what your own employees are doing?" Clark sounded skeptical._

 _Bruce's eyes narrowed. "I mean I don't micromanage them. But I promise you, I'll get answers."_

 _"He was looking for something, and in a hurry," Clark insisted. "He wouldn't wait, and then…then we saw something…"_

 _"What?" Diana stared at him, surprised. She hadn't known this. "What are you talking about?"_

 _"We were drilling way below the deepest level, too far, it wasn't stable…there shouldn't have been anything down there but we'd broken into…into something, down there, and there was a…there was a_ face _…or something, I saw something…then everything exploded."_

 _"A face?" Zatanna and Diana exchanged glances, stunned. "What happened after that?" Zatanna asked, puzzled_

 _But Clark's anger had turned to confusion, and his voice had started to slur with dizziness._

 _"You might have a concussion," Bruce interrupted. "You couldn't have seen anything. We better get you checked out."_

 _"No!" Clark barked. "I did see something – we all did – and then everything just blew up. The next thing I knew, everything was on fire. There were bodies, all over…dead…"_

 _Diana placed a calming hand on his shoulder. Zatanna noticed it was trembling a little. "Your co-workers are alive, Clark, they've been taken to the hospital."_

 _"John Henry too?"_

 _"He's in the hospital," Diana said reassuringly, but Zatanna saw in her eyes that it must not be good, whoever this John Henry was._

 _"The injured have been taken to trauma centers throughout the state," J'onn J'onzz said. "Now, we need to have a look at you."_

 _Clark still resisted. "No! No…I need to get back out there, help..."_

 _"Absolutely not," Bruce's voice was commanding as usual. "You're staying here and letting J'onn look at you."_

 _Clark had looked ready to keep fighting, but then he just looked very exhausted and sad._

 _"I'm fine," Clark insisted, but no sooner had he spoken then he collapsed into a chair, conveniently made out of a certain individual who seemed to flow up from the deck._

 _"Thanks, Plas," Clark managed to murmur._

 _"No problem," O'Brien replied in his thick Irish brogue. "Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for letting me in the team! You have no idea what this means to me, I've always wanted to try out for…um, I think you're bleeding on me."_

 _"I'm fine," Clark insisted, but he looked very faint. Diana grasped him quickly before he fell over._

 _"You're being delusional, mate!" Plastic Man said. "C'mon, lemme help you…"_

 _"Listen to him, Clark," Diana pleaded. "I can go back and help with the rescue operation."_

 _"No, you can't go! Not in your condition."_

 _"'Condition?'" Bruce stared at Clark, then Diana._

 _"Oh…yes, we might as well tell you now," the Amazon's face flushed. "I, ah, I'm going to have a baby, again."_

 _Seeing the look on Bruce's face, and with Jon crying even louder, and more people flooding into the room, Zatanna considered that moment a good time to make an exit. She headed for the Monitor Womb, unnoticed. She would file her after-action report and go home. She'd had enough for one day. Everyone seemed to have forgotten her and Bruce's mission for the moment, and she was fine with that._

 _She filed her report, but before she could leave Bruce found her._

 _His cowl was pushed back from his head, revealing his sweat-matted hair, and his tight, unhappy face. He clearly was having a not-so-merry night what with Fenderbrake escaping from his grasp, and then this weird thing with Superman, and Wonder Woman effectively announcing she was soon going to be sidelined too because she was pregnant again._

 _"How's Superman?" She asked peremptorily._

 _"He's going to be fine," he replied shortly. "Never mind that - I need to talk to you. Where are you going?"_

 _"I told you, I have to go home. I do have a career outside the Justice League, you know? My new show opens in Gotham City in a week, and I still have a lot of prep work to do."_

 _Bruce went on as if he hadn't heard her. "Did you hear what Superman and Wonder Woman said back there?"_

 _"I'm not deaf, of course I heard. I'm just glad he's going to be ok." She looked at him carefully. "I wonder about_ you _though."_

 _Bruce looked surprised, although she couldn't imagine why. "About me? Why?"_

 _"You know why."_

 _Zatanna turned away, but Bruce took her arm. "Wait, Zee. I didn't finish what I was going to say to you, before."_

 _She looked at him apprehensively. "What?"_

 _"Come stay at the Manor, with me."_

Zatanna's thoughts were distracted as many well-wishers came up to congratulate and compliment her. She acknowledged them all graciously. Her eyes widened in pleasure at the approach of an older lady. She held out her hands.

"Leslie? Thank you so much for coming!"

"My dear, it was a marvelous show! I wouldn't have missed it for anything!" Dr. Leslie Thompkins, Bruce's old family doctor, took Zatanna's hands and squeezed them warmly. "I must say I was just stunned when you did those illusions, I can't imagine how you did them! I've never seen anything like that in my life!"

Zatanna smiled modestly. "Well, I'm so glad you enjoyed it!"

"I wonder if I ever told you before, I once saw your father perform too, oh that must have been years ago, in New York City, I think. An amazing man. I'm sure he would be very proud of you today."

She would have liked to hear more about that, but then she saw the doctor's attention diverted. She heard before she saw the reason: a familiar voice echoed above the hum of the conversation, a rather loud and obnoxious laughter. She recognized the voice.

A titter ran through the assembled crowd as the crowd recognized Bruce Wayne. He was hard to miss: although he was dressed impeccably, he managed to look a little disheveled, as if he'd been bar-hopping for hours before arriving. His face was flushed and he was grinning - smirking - broadly. He looked more than a little out of place among the artist-dominated crowd. However, as a well-known patron of the arts in Gotham City, it wasn't all that unusual for him to be at performances, although maybe performances a bit more 'high-brow' than a magic show. Around him, people rolled their eyes. His caught hers and he waved.

"Zatanna!" He called out to get her attention, a little too loudly. "Hey, Zatanna!"

Oh dear," Dr. Leslie Thompkins tutted. "The boy's drunk again. I'm so sorry, I really should have a word with him someday, his behavior is just really too much…"

Zatanna listened to the retired doctor complain about Bruce's behavior and she tried not to laugh aloud. She was the only person here who knew Bruce was never really drunk in public, or drunk at all for that matter, but he could act the part quite believably. She had learned quite a bit about how well he could play a role. But sometimes it was difficult even for her to tell when he wasn't acting.

 _Once she'd gotten over her surprise she had tried to turn him down. "When I'm on tour, I stay with my crew."_

 _"You're not on tour, you're just playing Gotham City," Bruce pointed out. "Yes, I know, you can just transport yourself back to Shadowcrest whenever you want, but it would be easier for you to stay in Gotham City, for appearances' sake."_

 _"That's not really why-"_

 _"Anyway, I need your help, Zee."_

 _"Help with what? I told you what I thought about your occult 'research.' Or is it that you just want me where you can keep your eyes on me?" She folded her arms and stared at him defiantly._

 _"I know what you said," Bruce was nothing if not persistent. "I gave you my reasons. You can help me, or not, it's your choice but I hope you'll change your mind."_

 _He moved closer to her, his expression changed, and she felt her throat tighten, as he stared intensely down at her. His hand drifted to hers and caught her clenched fingers, not letting them go. She felt her throat go dry._

 _"And…you're right. I do want you where I can keep an eye on you. I really want you to stay with me, at least for a little while. I would like that very much, Zee. Will you?"_

 _She'd looked up into his eyes. She felt like she could lose herself in them. Zatanna usually could read people like a book but not him. She found that she couldn't respond and her words stuck in her throat._

 _"Please think about it."_

 _So she did, and for not very long at that. She felt she needed to keep an eye on him too, after what he had done at Fenderbrake's house…_

"What's _he_ doing here?"

Zatanna realized that Charly was standing next to her and was giving Bruce the evil eye. Dr. Thompkins went off to do some damage control, presumably. Her manager had never warmed up to Bruce, avoiding him the few times he visited the studio.

She was less than thrilled, if that were possible, after she'd learned what Zatanna had done. Normally, she didn't care what Zatanna did in her personal life, as long as it didn't affect her career negatively, but something about Bruce rubbed her the wrong way. It wasn't jealousy, Zatanna knew, but her manager's almost uncanny perceptiveness – she knew Bruce was hiding something, and that got Charly's conspiracy-centered mind going.

Not to mention that once it became known that Bruce Wayne, the billionaire scion of one of Gotham's established families, was effectively Zatanna's patron, problems with permits and fees and licenses that had initially plagued Charly in setting up the logistics for her shows had miraculous dissipated overnight. That irritated her, to her it was the "1%" throwing their money and influence around.

"What kind of place is this?" She had complained.

Zatanna had tried to blow it off. "I guess that's just how things are done in Gotham City."

"I don't like it," Charly complained. "What does he want from you? Oh I think I know, but the way he's going about it...it's like he owns you now or something!"

"Oh, it's nothing like that. He's just a friend."

"Friend with benefits," Her assistant Mikail had snipped. He couldn't help it – he'd noticed the lavish gift boxes that arrived on a regular basis to Zatanna's dressing room. Zatanna had tried telling Bruce not to do that but it was like talking to a brick wall. "He's certainly the charmer!"

Zatanna would have liked to tell Charly the truth, she didn't like keeping secrets from her friend, but it was just too dangerous to reveal it to her. It didn't make her feel any better though.

"He's picking me up tonight." She replied as nonchalantly as possible.

Charly stared at her. "You're going home with him? You're not going back to San Francisco? I thought you said this all was only 'temporary.'"

"It is! I mean…" She shrugged, helplessly. "I haven't made any plans, yet. It's not like I'm moving away."

Her manager shook her head with some exasperation. "I really thought this was just some fling you were indulging yourself in. So, are things really serious between the two of you?"

"I…I, yes…well…" Zatanna was starting to feel a little flustered - but truth be told, she wasn't sure herself.

 _So she had moved into the Manor, just a "temporary stay" she'd told everybody, although she didn't tell anyone in the Justice League (except for Dinah, who probably told Oliver, who probably told everyone else, no doubt, so that point was moot). She couldn't help but wonder how Alfred had reacted when Bruce told him she would be the new tenant. The English butler displayed absolutely no surprise when she turned up at the door with a bunch of bags, but there was something in his demeanor that suggested he Didn't Quite Approve…in that reserved English butler sort of way of course._

 _It wasn't like she was sharing Bruce's room 24/7, which was something of a relief - she valued her privacy, apparently just as much as he did his. Instead, he had showed her several large rooms, each one larger than most city apartments. She was surprised to see the furniture there, mostly turn-of-the-century New England, antique but still very nice, and she wondered how long they'd sat unused. An Antiques Roadshow dealer would go nuts in there._

 _"These used to be rooms for visiting relatives, back when there were actually relatives. They haven't been used in years. I had Alfred air them out and change the linens, so don't worry about dust." Bruce explained casually, as if he had visitors staying over all the time, which she was certain he didn't._

 _"I'm, um, sure they're fine," Zatanna said. "Bruce, this is all very nice of you but I'm going to be very busy down at the studio so I probably won't even be here that often…"_

 _"That's all right. I just want you to feel at home when you are."_

 _He'd smiled at her, and she thought he was perhaps at his most relaxed that she'd seen, perhaps even since that first night when they'd first…anyway, he didn't mention his work once that day…or his 'studies.' He actually seemed quite…normal, for a change._

 _It made her wary but she smiled back at him. "I think I'm going to like being here, with you too. We'll definitely get to know each other even better!" She ran a suggestive finger down the front of his shirt. "I imagine you'll take full opportunity of me being here at night." Zatanna thought she might relish that opportunity. This might not be so strange after all._

 _Bruce sighed. "Well, it may be that I'm not going to be here that often myself, as least not at first. I need to find out just what's going on with that incident at that camp. I'm leaving tonight, by the way."_

 _"What?" Zatanna hadn't expected this. "How long will you be gone?"_

 _"Hopefully not more than a day or two, unless I discover something that needs attention. Alfred will take care of anything you need. Alfred!" He shouted very loudly, startling her._

 _"No need to shout Master Bruce, I'm right here." The butler had a way of appearing almost soundlessly, like magic, thought Zatanna bemusedly. "Is anything required?"_

 _"Please show Zee around the Manor. I'll be leaving for Fargo tonight. I'll be taking the company jet this time. Zee, I'll see you tomorrow, or the day after." He'd kissed her, a quick peck on the cheek, and just like that he was gone, leaving her alone with the unsmiling butler._

 _"So," Zatanna said, feeling more than a little awkward in the sudden silence. "What do you two do for fun around here? Other than hanging out in the Batcave, I mean?"_

"Mr. Wayne doesn't strike me as the 'serious' type," Charly's voice took Zatanna out of her thoughts again. "Do you know what that Vale woman was going to call her article? 'The Billionaire's Mistress!'"

"What? It's nothing like that!"

"Yeah, I think you have to be having a fling with a married man to be an actual mistress, unless your income's a certain level. Well, it's nothing compared to what's already been written about you two in the other tabloids. Don't worry I convinced her to change it, that is, if she wanted to get another interview with you. But makes for a good story, doesn't it? It's what people want to read, like she said. He certainly treats you like a queen what with all those gifts of bling, which I have to say is much better than how John treated you, I can't argue with that."

"Oh God don't bring him into this-"

"At least this Wayne guy has money and isn't always sponging on you, like that cheating bastard. He still keeps sending stuff to everyone in the crew too, did you know that? I wonder if he'll keep it up."

Zatanna knew that, of course. Bruce had gotten the idea in his pointy head to ingratiate himself with her eclectic crew, sending gift baskets and other goodies almost daily, until she swore most of them had gained at least ten pounds during their sojourn in Gotham. When she asked him why he did it he just shrugged and said something about 'maintaining their identities' whatever that had to do with it.

She snatched a champagne flute from a passing tray and downed half of it, feeling she needed it. She watched Bruce as he mingled about with her artist friends and staff. Perhaps half of them had come to really like him, especially Mikail (who had a massive crush on him), the other half regarded him at best as an affable pest, not really offensive but someone tolerated only because he was generous, and because of Zatanna, their boss.

"That's ridiculous," she protested. "Bruce isn't like…"

Zatanna bit her tongue. It still all came down to this façade she had to put up, thanks to her participation with the Justice League. She wasn't used to it. It wasn't the same as hiding her true magickal powers. Perhaps that was what he meant about maintenance and all that.

"Vale told me some interesting things about him," Charly's eyes never left Bruce, who was gradually making his way towards them. "I could tell she still has feelings for him, but she was afraid of him too, although she didn't come right out and say so."

"Really? Why?"

"She really couldn't describe it, just a feeling he had, like he was hiding something, something unpleasant and dangerous. Anyway, you can ask her yourself, when you do that interview with her. By the way, that's on for tomorrow afternoon at two."

"She doesn't know what she's talking about, he's not dangerous." Even as she said those words, she realized that it wasn't quite true. He was very dangerous indeed, at least to his enemies.

Charly seemed to see that hesitation in her face and immediately honed in on it. "He hasn't, like, done anything to you, has he? You _would_ tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would. But there's nothing going on like that. You know I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," Charly said. "That's what I'm worried about."

 _Alfred had dutifully given her the grand tour of Wayne Manor; although she'd been here before, she'd realized only seen a small part of it, now she saw just how grand it was. It was truly a magnificent example of turn-of-the-last-century architecture. Alfred seemed to take great pride and pleasure in describing the minutia of every room and its furnishings, all the while giving a history of the Manor itself._

 _During his 'tour' he had subtly dropped hints about which places of the Manor were essentially 'off-limits' to her: the library, in particular, which he had not bothered to show her, even though she'd already been inside, or any of the secret entrances to the Batcave, although she'd been there too._

 _"_ _What about the kitchen?" Zatanna said playfully, when he detoured past it. "I bet it looks like something on the Food Channel!"_

 _"_ _If you require any meals or refreshments, I shall be at your disposal," Alfred replied in a stiff tone and what she also heard (unspoken) was: "Simply because you are now a guest here, that does not mean you may have free run of the place. And keep your smelly Italian cooking out of my kitchen, you."_

 _Zatanna sighed. She didn't want to aggravate Alfred, she well knew he could be a quite formidable opponent in his own way, when he wanted to be. But for all Alfred's encyclopedic knowledge, such a big house for only two people was a little dreary._

 _They had come to one room, which did make Zatanna's eyes widen. She thought of it as the 'War Room' – the walls were decorated with weapons: swords, maces, antique rifles, and lined with suits of armor from medieval times. There was even samurai armor from Japan, and a mannequin dressed in a colorful Zulu warrior costume._

 _"_ _What are these? Bruce's backup suits?"_

 _She had meant to make a joke but Alfred acted as if she was serious._

 _"_ _Certainly not, Miss Zatara, these are for display only. These pieces are not meant to be used, or worn, anymore that is, although I assure you that these are all genuine artifacts. This collection was actually started by Bruce's great-grandfather, who possessed something of the hoarding yen. As you see, the majority of the collection consists of ceremonial jousting armor, mostly manufactured in Europe during the Renaissance Period…"_

 _Zatanna wondered about that. Her eyes were drawn to one particular suit of armor situated by the door, an elaborate suit of plate armor with a menacing slitted helmet and visor that looked too shiny and clean to have ever been worn by an actual knight on horseback. She pointed to it._

 _"_ _Even this one?"_

 _"_ _Ah!" Alfred seemed to warm up to his subject. "Your suspicions are partially confirmed, Miss Zatana. Yes, 90% of this suit is of recent origin, specifically it is an early 19_ _th_ _-century reproduction based on a model of Crusader armor from the twelfth century, known to have once been owned by a Wayne ancestor."_

 _While Alfred lectured on about its provenance, Zatanna's eyes were drawn to a piece of the shoulder armor and forearm guard. They clearly stood out as not fitting neatly with the rest of the reproduction as they were darker in color and clearly worn with use and age._

 _"_ _You said 90% of this was fake, but what about these bits?"_

 _Alfred raised an eyebrow. "You are referring to the pauldron and the vambrance? Yes, those pieces were all that remained of the original suit, which was lost and misplaced over the centuries. The elder Wayne commissioned the reproduction so it may be displayed as close as possible like the original."_

 _Zatanna wondered about that. Just because it was old didn't mean it was real. Perhaps Alfred was just trying to impress her. But something about that forearm piece bothered her. The dark splotch on the leather looked to her like…_

 _"_ _You mean it was really worn, in battle?"_

 _"_ _Yes, quite possibly. I see you have noticed the bloodstain. Of course, it is impossible to verify with certainty if the stain occurred due to battle but it is family lore that a branch of the Wayne family fought…"_

 _Later, she couldn't say why she felt the urge to touch the ugly, worn piece of leather. She really didn't have a skill for psychometry and its related abilities, but sometimes she was able to get a sense of a thing's history, a small talent she sometimes employed for her work with the San Francisco PD. She would later tell herself she just wanted to find out if the piece was real or not._

 _She reached out and touched the vambrace, lightly, just with her fingertips._

 _At first she felt nothing, only how cold and stiff the material was. Then, very fast, faster than any other time she had ever touched an object in this way, she felt faint and then a gray whiteness enveloped her, like she'd dove headfirst into a cloudbank. Abruptly she was bereft of time and space. She had the nonsensical feeling that she was suspended in a fog, hovering over something._

 _But she wasn't alone._

 _She heard the sound of people running, many people, running in terror. She felt the fear, and it startled her with its power._

 _Then, she heard the screams. Women, children screaming, screaming. Dreadful sounds not just of fear but of pain. She wanted to clap her hands over her ears but she had no way to do that. There were other sounds now fighting sounds that could only mean murder and blood. They grew in volume, surrounding her, and she could not blot them out. She wanted to scream herself, if just to drown out those heart-rending cries._

 _Out of the maelstrom of noise came a single voice, male and powerful, shouting above the sounds of killing and of death, screaming out in a language Zatanna didn't know, but the meaning was unmistakable: the owner of the voice was calling out for vengeance. He was the victim, the voice for those whose lives had just been cut short so awfully._

 _"A CURSE ON YOU! DOWN THROUGH THE GENERATIONS! MAY YOU NEVER HAVE PEACE!"_

 _"_ _Miss Zatanna?"_

 _As suddenly as she had been sucked into the fugue state caused by the psychometry, she was back to herself. Although it had seemed like many long minutes, only a few seconds had passed. The sudden silence after that noise was shocking. She stood still, dazed for a second. She was no longer touching the forearm guard, and the butler was staring at her worriedly._

 _"_ _Miss Zatanna, is everything all right?"_

 _She found she didn't know how to describe exactly what she just experienced, and she didn't want to tell him, heaven knew he thought she was wacky enough._

 _"Oh…yes, yes. Yes, I'm…fine. I'm sorry I just got…dizzy for a moment."_

 _The astute butler looked not quite convinced of her 'fine'-ness, but he nodded understandingly. "My apologies, Miss Zatana, I fear I may have drawn out our tour. Shall I fetch you a glass of water?"_

 _Zatanna shook her head, still a little dazed. She just felt now that she could use some sleep. "I'm all right, I'll just go back to my room, if you don't mind."_

 _"_ _Certainly. I will escort you. I know you know your way around, but I would like to ensure you get there safely."_

 _Zatanna didn't protest as he took hold of her arm and helped her away. She was extremely unsettled and she knew it just wasn't the sensations of death and rage, she had felt similar things when she'd done similar work for the police. But it had never been so strong as what had happened just now. She knew such a reaction could only have been caused by something quite personal, something in that bloodstained piece of armor had spoken to her, because there was some connection with her there. But she didn't understand how that could be. She had never been in that room before, never seen that piece of armor before._

 _Something in the Wayne family, and her? But that couldn't be possible either, she thought._

 _She gave one last apprehensive look over her shoulder. But the suit of amor's visored helm concealed any answers that may be there, and seemed to glare a warning at her to keep away._

"Don't get me wrong, Zee, I don't think you're the type to fall head over heels for someone just because he showers you with fancy and expensive gifts," Charly was saying, and Zatanna forced herself to pay attention. "But you've always brushed off other rich idiots who tried that tack. Why is Bruce Wayne any different?"

"It just…it just is. We have a…connection." Zatanna replied after a long moment, realizing herself how lame that sounded. "I don't know how to explain it." She said finally.

"If he's just the 'rebound' guy…"

"He's not," Zatanna said, with a firmness that surprised even herself.

Charly didn't look convinced but she fell silent as Bruce finally approached them. He was being at his most convivial, both surprising and annoying her touch-phobic manager with a friendly hug and then he turned his gregariousness on Zatanna.

"Zee!" he said warmly. "You look wonderful!"

"I'm covered in sweat," Zatanna protested, but it didn't stop Bruce from nuzzling her neck in a drawn-out and rather sloppy kiss. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mikail and his boyfriend hiding their giggles behind their hands. Surreptitiously she gave them the finger, but she found herself leaning into his kiss.

"You look beautiful sweaty," Bruce grinned as he straightened. She couldn't help but grin herself at his goofy and ridiculously lustful face; she felt her second flute of champagne working its liquid magic within. "Congratulations on your wonderful show!" He gushed.

"Oh. Did you see it?" Charly asked pointedly. "I didn't see you in the audience."

"I came late, but I know it was great," Bruce gave her a knowing look. "If I missed any magic tricks, I'm sure Zatanna will give me a...private show."

"I'll see you _later_ , Zee. Drive safely," Charly glared pointedly at Bruce, then left.

"What's with her?"

"She doesn't like you."

"Why not?" Bruce seemed genuinely affronted. "After all I've done for her!"

"Because you're treating me like your mistress," Zatanna said with mock-reproach. "She thinks you're trying to buy my affections."

"I thought I already bought them."

She glared at him at that. "You couldn't afford them, really!"

"Hm. I guess I'll just try harder. How about a beach house in the Maldives?"

"Please."

"I'm serious," Bruce slipped an arm around Zatanna's slender waist and pulled her close. She still hadn't changed out of her costume, a variation of the diaphanous costume she'd worn when he saw her perform at the Dante Club, which clung to her skin. "It's all yours, the deed's in your name. If you want to magick yourself there, I'll tell you exactly where it is right now."

Zatanna abruptly pulled away from him, suddenly uncomfortable. "Stop."

She picked up a third flute. Actually a cold beer would have been better, or a shot of whiskey. Around them the party was picking up, and the DJ was going full blast, people were dancing, whooping, happy, but now she felt off-balance. Bruce was just looking at her, with a slightly perplexed expression.

"What's wrong?"

"You didn't have to do all that." She realized Charly's accusations upset her more than she'd realized. "Even for show."

"It's not for show," Bruce said more quietly, under the pulse of the music. He glanced away, his expression not so comical as it was earlier. "I was joking. I'm sorry if I offended you."

"You didn't. It's just that..."

"I know. Your boss thinks I'm treating you like my latest conquest, or worse, and that I'm going to end up hurting you in the end, not just emotionally. Vicki filled her head with images of my losing it and becoming physically violent, although she never witnessed me ever acting out violently and she knows it. She wanted Charly to tell you so that she can ask you about us in her future interview with you. Charly also believes you should end our relationship after tonight."

"Wow, the Great Detective strikes again," Zatanna muttered. "You got all that just now? And she's not my boss, she's my manager."

Bruce shrugged. "Mostly from her face. It's like an open book. Also, I saw overheard her talking to Vicki. Does it bother you, everyone knowing about us?"

 _As the days passed, it turned out Zatanna had hardly time to think about what had happened in the 'War Room.' She was so busy at the studio she sometimes slept there after rehearsals, but it settled down into a routine, and there were thankfully no problems that required her participation with the League. Bruce's investigation into the work-camp took more of his time than expected. He returned a week later, looking more angry than usual._

 _"_ _So what happened? Any answers?"_

 _He'd slammed his briefcase onto a desk and sunk into a chair. "Not the ones I want, not yet. The director who authorized the drill was killed in the explosion. There are some encrypted files even I'm having trouble breaking. Apparently there was a rumor going around that there would be substantial bonuses for completing our contractual obligations on time, but it had nothing to do with directing the drilling. Until I can break the encryption, I don't have the answers."_

 _"_ _What about…whatever Clark saw?"_

 _Bruce shook his head. "The explosion revealed a small cavern but beyond that just solid rock. There's nothing there, not even the natural gas and rare earth deposits they were looking for. A waste of lives."_

 _He looked so infuriated Zatanna had decided not to talk to him about her unsettling experience. The horrible feeling she had experienced when touching the vambrance was fading, leaving her with a still-unpleasant after-taste. He also didn't look in the mood for another problem, especially a vague one._

 _What they needed, Zatanna thought, then, was some restoration of well-being and a moment of 'self-care.'_

 _They were alone, and she didn't hesitate. She made her suggestion, and Bruce was most receptive to it. Just as Zatanna suspected, it turned out to be convenient for her to be in the Manor – he would be there when he wanted to see her, and fortunately it wasn't to talk about work or any weird thing that had happened involving the Justice League. Yet they still hardly had any time together, with her shows and this thing up in the Dakotas he was still investigating. It made her uncomfortably aware that she still really didn't know him very well – other than the contours of his body and his particular tastes in bed._

 _But as long as he wasn't pursuing his occult studies, she was content with that, despite their infrequent meetings. He hadn't tried to use the Aklo words again, as far as she knew._

"I'm used to gossip, I'm an entertainer," Zatanna said. "Besides, you know I don't care about what anyone says about us."

She eyed him. "What about you?"

Bruce snorted. "You know I don't either."

"Even the…?" She raised her eyes towards the ceiling.

Now he scowled. "What have you heard?"

"Oh, nothing," Zatanna knew from Dinah that Bruce had circulated a memo within the League stating to the effect that 'gossip' among League members shoud stop. Gossip (meaning, according to Dinah, people talking amongst themselves) was contrary to 'good order and discipline.' 'Yeah, good luck with that!' Dinah had said.

Bruce however didn't look mollified. She was surprised since she didn't think he would be affected by what his League colleagues thought. Perhaps, she thought, he valued his aura of ascetic rigidity as much as he did the playboy image. It was a different audience, though. But Zatanna knew, having seen Bruce in his more intimate moments, how fictitious that was. She wondered how much of his life had been dedicated to forming this character…perhaps ever since his parents' murder.

Her next thought, then: how much of the real Bruce did she know?

Zatanna pushed the thought to the back of her mind. It was getting too hot and noisy to think. Instead she said, "I've hardly seen you these past couple of weeks, and I've missed everyone in the League too. I'll make up for it, I promise."

"That's all right," Bruce said. "There's no hurry."

Zatanna looked thoughtfully at him. It wasn't like him to not care about his precious schedules and he seemed a bit distracted, and it wasn't just from watching the revelers. "Is everything all right?"

"What? Oh, yes. It's just been quiet. A little too quiet. I was out...earlier. Nothing exceptional."

She knew he was still troubled about the Joker's escape, and especially that his gang was still laying low, for reasons he hadn't yet uncovered.

"I let Clark and Diana know I'm still working on what happened at the Bakken camp. But it seems to be a dead end."

That wasn't exactly an answer to Zatanna's question, but she let it pass, it was evident he didn't want to talk further about it at least not here. The matter dropped and for a while, they allowed themselves to participate in the backstage party. For a few hours, Zatanna allowed herself to relax and not think about impending obligations.

Finnaly after several hours, they made their departure together as planned. She made her goodbyes to her friends and others (she noticed Charly had left before them), and then she was in Bruce's car (he'd taken his Bentley Flying Spur tonight), back to Wayne Manor.

Bruce's abstraction continued on the drive back, as he hardly said anything as they left downtown and headed into light traffic out into Gotham's suburbs. As they left the sprawling 'burbs and onto the two-lane highway into the countryside, his hand gently rested on Zatanna's arm. She'd already been drifting off to sleep when he did so.

"Bruce?"

"You didn't want to stay longer did you?"

"No, I was ready to go," she looked at him. "I wanted to go home with you, anyway."

Bruce smiled, a real smile this time not a smirk. "Do you really think of it as your home too? I hoped you would."

He turned his attention back to the road. It was a mostly dark and unlit straight stretch, the luxury car's engine almost soundless. They could have been in space, the sense of isolation in a bubble was powerful. Zatanna sometimes felt like that, when she traveled with her father in their RV, criss-crossing the country, with the circus.

"I was always on the road, most of my life anyway," Zatanna said aloud. "Shadowcrest was our family home, but we were hardly there either, for very long anyway. Dad was always doing something."

There was silence after that, except for the faint drone of the engine.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Zatanna's head was drooping and he realized she was drifting off to sleep. Of course she would be tired after three performances today. He would wait for tomorrow to have a serious discussion with her. He had had another surprise for her at the house, and it definitely wasn't a beach hut.

It was something much more, but he realized by now, after a month, that Zatanna would likely not be very pleased that he had it. But Bruce had gambled that once she realized it was in his possession, she would do what she could to help him, if only to 'protect' him.

It was the reason he had not been able to attend her final performance. He had finally managed to locate the purchaser of the _Necronomicon_ , and it was now at the Manor, more precisely in the Batcave. In his pursuit of it, he had learned quite a few things, and not least, perhaps was a way to end the reign of Gotham City's most dangerous criminal.

 _To be continued..._

 **[A/N: My apologies for the long wait! Thanks for sticking around to follow the drama, and please review! I hope everyone has had a safe and happy holidays! I will try to write and post as much as I can]**


	13. Chapter 13 - Forbidden Books

**Chapter 13 – Forbidden Books**

 _Wayne Manor_

Zatanna slowly emerged into wakefulness in the enormous antique bed that occupied a good portion of her appointed bedroom in Wayne Manor. The bed was a relic of 18th-century England and had (according to Alfred) once occupied the boudoir of the Lady Hamilton, Lord Horatio Nelson's mistress (his sharing that little historical factoid didn't escape her notice).

That impressive pedigree didn't necessarily make it easier to sleep in. She had had some weird dreams in it a couple of times - dreams which were not quite nightmares but not exactly soothing either, no sno-cones or unicorns showing up for sure. In the dreams, she was standing in a wide and open space, a desert or an arid and blasted landscape; she was clad head-to-toe in veils staring at the distant horizon. Other times she was in a vast and desolate building like a castle or fortress searching for...something. Either time she'd felt a sensation of dread, and an even worse feeling of a grief so profound she could barely breathe. Yet she always awoke before she could discern what was the cause, the sensations fading quickly.

Although mercifully short, the dreams were vivid, the emotions they aroused powerful, more powerful than she'd ever experienced in a dream before, and that troubled her. So much so that she'd even considered consulting Fuselli about them, but that nightmare imp had made himself scarce, at a time when he could actually have been helpful. So she'd brushed the whole thing off for now - perhaps it was just living in this spacious yet somehow empty Manor. Maybe she would feel better once she returned to her familiar Shadowcrest, but she had yet to make any plans to move out. Procrastination, she guessed.

Or, it could be she really liked being here.

Zatanna rolled over and found herself pressed against something hard, and warm - Bruce lying with his back to her. She saw the soft rising and falling of his broad shoulders as he slumbered. The real reason she hadn't left, she considered.

Nevertheless, she was surprised to see him there, at least this early in the morning. Every time she had awoken, he was either already up or gone altogether. He'd never stayed with her throughout the night, it seemed. He was ready enough to fuck her in bed, but seemed not to like actually _sleeping_ with her there, she thought with some chagrin. When she mentioned that, he'd only shrugged like it was no big deal, and said, "You know I have bad dreams, I don't want to disturb you." As if that was normal.

However, he was here now, and it wasn't unwelcome; she pressed her naked body against his, relishing the feel of him and basking in the sleepy sensation of comfort and warmth and nothing to do but enjoy it. He smelled faintly of the body wash that he used (some "manly" brand no doubt) and his own particular scent, like that of aged oak, which she found particularly intoxicating. She liked the feel of him, strong and powerful.

Idly, she traced the faint lines of old scars on his back with her fingers. He had so many of them, all over his body she knew now, mementos of old fights. She'd once offered her skills to remove them but he'd refused outright – he treated them like they were medals, or something, as reminders of his "great purpose," she supposed, but they made her shiver.

In these rare moments of peacefulness, Zatanna wondered if there would ever be a time when Bruce would consider giving up the Batman. She wondered if anyone had even suggested it, but not even she had the balls to ask him that…not yet anyway. She realized that it might just be an intractable part of him, just as magick was for her.

But, she thought, it wasn't exactly the same was it? Eventually there would come a day when the Batman would cease – either due to Bruce's physical infirmities, or a bullet or a knife, or worse, would get pass his defenses. At the end of the day, the curtain was bound to fall and if she was still part of the cast, where would that leave her?

She was disturbed by such thoughts of mortality intruding on her serene moment. Perhaps the feelings evoked by her dreams still upset her. Unconsciously, she embraced Bruce tighter, willing them away.

"Zatanna?" Bruce said suddenly. His voice was thick with sleep, but still held alertness, and under that, trepidation. She wondered about that last – had he had a bad dream too?

She replied softly. "Who else? I didn't mean to wake you."

"No…I should be getting up anyway."

He rolled onto his back, his dark hair mussed and in his eyes. She saw the thick shadow on his jawline, his beard came in dark and heavy. She pushed him back down.

"Wait," Zatanna protested. "It's five o'clock in the morning! Where do you have to be at this time? No, don't answer that, just…don't leave right away."

Zatanna lay close to him, her arm and head against his chest, her leg draped over his possessively. She felt him tense, and she thought for a moment he would get up anyway, but then he didn't. He relaxed but only a little bit. He never really did, Zatanna thought, not even with her. Not even when he was inside her. It was if a part of him of was totally untouched by the gentle emotions, was pure cold and unthinking reaction. That was where the Bat lived, and it hid there when they shared their moments of intimacy. But it couldn't hide from her.

She'd learned long before – when she was with John Constantine - that it was impossible to change men, and trying to do so would just lead to heartbreak. Even if they were going right off the proverbial cliff, it was a lost cause. Yet the human heart was perverse and wouldn't stop trying. She knew that also.

"Why do you never stay with me?" Zatanna whispered.

"What?"

"You're here now but usually you're not. You're always up and running off somewhere before I wake up."

"Oh," Bruce's voice was noncommittal. "Just guess I'm too busy."

"Or do you think it's just too normal? To wake up next to a woman?"

Bruce rolled onto his side facing her. His hand touched the side of her face, and she could tell by the look in his eyes that he thought she was joking. "I thought you weren't into 'normal'?"

"I'm into being happy," Zatanna corrected. She took his hand, brought it to rest between her breasts, where he could feel her heartbeat. "Doesn't this make you happy?"

"It does," Bruce agreed. But he didn't say it right away…and looked like he had to think about his answer.

Sighing, Zatanna rolled onto her side, facing away from him.

"Did I say something wrong? What did I do?"

An unwanted memory came to Zatanna, of a similar situation with John. She remembered John's voice saying those words, or something similar, only his voice was whiny and annoyed, and inevitably followed by a mutter that he was going out to "pick up some fags" and would return when she'd "calmed down a bit" even though she'd never even raised her voice to him. Bruce's voice was much different. Confused, even anxious, in a tone she was certain none of his Justice League colleagues had ever heard. Like…like a lost child, almost.

A face swam up before her, one from years ago, from the orphanage charity show. A child's face, and yet not. She banished it.

"No, it's not that," Zatanna insisted. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just we had more time together. It's me," she added hastily. "I was so busy with the gig."

"Oh. That's…all right. Nobody's at fault. We have plenty of time now."

Bruce's arms came around her pulling her against him, and for a long moment neither of them moved, or said anything. It was quiet in the room. She wanted to believe him. When he spoke again, it was against her neck, just below her ear.

"I guess you can tell, this-this isn't the usual for me. I don't do 'normal' either, as you know. But I can try."

Zatanna chuckled softly. "I can tell you tried. This whole month, acting like my 'rich boyfriend.'"

"Do you think I overdid it? I really don't often get a chance to give things." He held her tighter and Zatanna felt an electric shiver run through her body, a delightful sensation.

"You played your part very well, you had everyone convinced. I guess I helped in the act. Everyone thinks you've made me your mistress."

Bruce thoughtfully caressed Zatanna's shoulder. "I know, I've read the papers. I have news for you - I wasn't acting."

Zatanna looked over her shoulder, with her best seductive look. "You mean, you actually _are_ my rich boyfriend?"

"Um…yes, if that's what you want, Zee."

Zatanna could have laughed out loud. Maybe it was because it was the look on his face. He really was almost like a child, it was very endearing. It occurred to her, not so comically though, that maybe she was his first...oh, not his first woman, certainly, but someone he could actually treat like a real girlfriend. She didn't imagine he had had much of a dating life when he was a teenager. That would explain his going overboard with the extravagant presents and the attention. He had given her lots of jewelry, gold. She supposed he thought it was just the thing to do.

"Good! Then don't stop! But really, Bruce, I want to make _you_ happy. That's all I want. Don't you think that's possible?"

"I can be happy," Bruce protested. "I mean, I _am_ happy, with you, whenever I'm with you."

"Do you really mean that?" Zatanna whispered.

Bruce frowned, a slightly petulant look on his face. "I can tell you think like everyone else, that I'm some grim golem lurking about in the cave."

Now Zatanna did laugh delightedly, and she turned back around so she was facing him, throwing her arms around his neck.

"No! I don't think that!"

"Yes, you do, I can tell."

"No! No I don't, don't sulk," Zatanna rested her fingers against his lips. "I'm not like all the rest, and I don't care what anyone thinks about us. You're here with me and that's all that matters."

Zatanna felt Bruce's hands stroke down her side; she felt his hand, which could snap a criminal's wrist with one twist, began massaging her between her legs. She gasped, but Bruce's face didn't change, and he continued to stare intensely in her eyes as if trying to suss out her sincerity. She thought of something else she could do to prove it to him.

She grabbed his wrist, and flung his hand away from her moistening cleft; although she liked it, she wanted something else. Before Bruce could react she'd pushed him onto his back and mounted him, pressing his half-hard shaft between her wetted labia.

Bruce was taken by surprise, although he knew that she was a performer, she was quite strong for her size. Being on his back wasn't his favorite position, and she knew that, but she was looking down at him with an interesting expression on her face.

"What are you doing?"

"I want to show you something," Zatanna whispered, tossing her hair back. She raised her hands to just below her breasts and did something with them, then they seemed to glow with an ethereal light.

"Zee, I don't-"

"Shh. Don't say anything. Just lie back and enjoy the show."

For once, Bruce Wayne did as he was told, and found it most...agreeable.

Alfred had gone to Master Bruce's room with his early-morning tray and newspaper, but when he saw that he wasn't there, instinctively knew where he was. He'd made the trip to Zatanna's room but after hearing the sounds coming from behind Zatanna's door (and there seemed to be some kind of accompanying light show, judging from the glow beneath the doorjamb) he thought it best to return to the kitchen for the present. He made himself a fresh pot of tea and sat down, thinking.

When Master Bruce had first told him Zatanna would be moving in, he'd been taken aback. and not just because those rooms needed significant renovations. Yes, he'd met the young magician lady before, and she seemed fairly pleasant and mild-mannered, as compared to the tempestuous and moody Selina Kyle. However, in his opinion Master Bruce did not necessarily possess the best judgment when it came to his paramours, the afore mentioned Miss Kyle being just one example. Despite her rather risqué physical appearance and personality, Master Bruce's attraction to Zatanna fairly mystified the butler. Their personalities seemed very different and wondered if this relationship would be as tenuous as his past ones. Part of Alfred sincerely hoped that it would not be - it was past time Bruce had a serious, meaningful relationship, his playboy-image notwithstanding. Thomas Wayne had been married at his age. Alfred disliked the thought that Bruce was alone and may always be so due to his unique work. Still, Alfred had hoped for a 'normal' relationship for him, preferably a scion of another established American family, or a young lady perhaps employed also in business or academia, not a metahuman who would be just as obsessed as Bruce and at risk of great harm herself.

But Alfred had another reason for his concern about Zatanna.

He'd previously heard Master Bruce express an intense skepticism and dislike for the occult and magic, given some of the crimes he had witnessed in Gotham. Recently however, he'd seemed to have changed his mind, delving into it as much as he could, acquiring rare and expensive books on the subject. Alfred could understand Master Bruce going to Zatanna as an expert on the subject, but his subsequent attraction to her had surprised him. Then, this development.

Discreetly, Alfred had conducted his own background check of Miss Zatara. He'd found nothing, he suspected, that Master Bruce didn't know already, but he did educate himself quite a deal. And, it had sparked his memory of when he had actually seen Zatara the magician perform. He remembered the orphanage charity show of many years ago. It was on a day that was warm and sunny, a rarity in Gotham. It was too pleasant to stay indoors so he had made Master Bruce go, although the boy had wanted to do nothing except stay in his darkened room, as he had almost every day since the...the tragedy. During the car trip into the city, and during the show itself, he had not said one word. He'd watched as the staff made him sit up front. The other kids cheered and laughed during the wonderful performance, but Master Bruce was unmoved.

Alfred had despaired then of his ward ever retrieving some semblance of normality. He'd gone to fetch the car, but when he'd returned, he was stunned to see the famous magician talking one-on-one to Bruce, and further amazed when he saw Bruce replying. He hadn't interrupted, not wanting to disturb the moment. Then, it seemed to be over in a minute, and he'd returned to the car, clutching a pair of prop handcuffs given to him by Zatara.

Although Master Bruce continued to be introverted and quiet he'd been engrossed with mastering escapes, which had never really left him. Alfred had been greatly impressed. He wanted to meet the man and personally thank him for talking to Master Bruce, but he couldn't find him afterwards. It seemed he had left Gotham City immediately after the show. Alfred hoped that the man would return someday for further performances, but he never had.

Had Zatanna been there?

Alfred recalled that Mr. Zatara's daughter often performed with him. On a hunch, Alfred had delved into several local news archives. He'd found a short article on Zatara's visit to Gotham, heralding his charity gig. There was a small black and white publicity photo of him, standing with the orphanage director. His daughter was in the photo, a charming young girl, but Alfred didn't remember her. But she had clearly been in Gotham City on that occasion.

Alfred did not believe in coincidences. Prior to the Justice League, he would also have said he did not believe in aliens or the supernatural either, and certainly stranger things had happened. Ever since, he thought, since Zatanna had made Batman's acquaintance, Bruce's disappearance, and now his odd fascination with these occult books on which he had spent a small fortune, and his latest acquisition had caused him to behave in a way that was surprising even to Alfred. Although he had kept up his 'patrols' he had focused on them almost to the exclusion of everything else. Even the Joker's escape had not significantly affected this.

Alfred was not a particularly superstitious, or even a religious man, but he was quite disturbed by what was supposedly in these books that Master Bruce was collecting. He had not looked at them personally, although he had handled most of them (Master Bruce had asked them to be transferred from the library to the Batcave). Somehow, even touching them had made him feel uncomfortable, even queasy. He was still skeptical but he had had a feeling...all this had started when Miss Zatara had become involved.

Alfred finished his cup, and re-prepared the tray. He resolved to keep a closer eye on events concerning both his employer and Miss Zatara.

Bruce rolled into a sitting position the edge of the bed and stretched luxuriously. He felt as if he had just had the best workout of his life. He wondered why he hadn't done this more often; for a moment he felt a perfect contentment. Normally, he didn't prefer anything too...fancy, at least when it came to...his tastes, he was sure, were quite pedestrian, compared probably to other people. Sex was never a major part of his life, it was as much window dressing as his playboy image. In the League of Assassins, celibacy was encouraged, sometimes enforced, but he hadn't minded. He had never really believed he could enjoy being with women, that it would end up costing too much trouble. Talia, Selina and Vicki had proved him correct.

But Zatanna had introduced him to pleasures he hadn't thought possible, not because he wasn't imaginative, but really because he hadn't had the time for them before. What she had done just now had literally bewildered him, in a very, very pleasant way though. Also, she was incredibly helpful, in other ways. Part of him continued to wonder why she would do this for him - maybe she saw something in him that she desired also.

His eyes caught a glimpse between Zee's legs, saw his semen dripping copiously from her cleft, even as her breathing gradually slowed as she tried to catch her breath. It occurred to him abruptly, not without a tinge of apprehension, that he'd never used a condom with her. Surely, he thought, she was careful, mindful of her career. The thought pulled him back to earth; suddenly he was reminded of Wonder Woman's predicament, and with it that thought, that momentary bliss he had felt dissipated slightly. He suddenly recalled the tasks he had set for himself today, and he grimaced.

Zatanna caught his look of irritation. "What is it? Didn't you enjoy it?"

"Yes. Yes, of course I did I was just thinking of something else."

Zatanna moaned in dismay. "What? I hoped the show would have taken your mind off of work for at least a few minutes! For as long to put your clothes back on, anyway!"

Bruce grunted in irritation. Trust her to guess his mind. He reached out and grasped her by the shoulders reassuringly. "I didn't say anything about work, did I? But we do have things to do. Come on, get dressed. I want to take you out today."

Her eyes widened. "You...really are? You're not running off to the Hall of Justice, or some alleyway in Gotham?"

"I thought we might go out, for a drive, breakfast, maybe, before you have to do your interview."

Zatanna smiled. "That sounds better!"

There was a knock at the door. "Master Bruce, I have your morning tray. Also, there is news."

"Oh. Come in, Alfred."

Zatanna dived for the covers as the door opened, cursing Bruce inwardly. Bruce seemed not to have the slightest self-awareness when it came to Alfred. The butler walked in with a silver tray as Bruce casually drew on some boxers and she cowered under the sheets. She guessed this was a typical thing that happened in the Wayne household.

"Good morning Master Bruce, Miss Zatanna. I trust the two of you slept well?"

"Just fine, Alfred" Bruce replied without the slightest trace of irony. "You said there was news?"

Alfred set the tray on a drop-leaf table by the door. "Indeed, Master Bruce. An eyewitness to the explosion in North Dakota has awakened from his coma, a one John Henry Irons. I believe he was a co-worker of Mr. Kent's. He may be able to shed some light on the events leading up to the disaster."

"Hm. Is that all?"

"Yes, there is more. I made some preliminary inquiries, as far as HIPAA regulations would allow. There is a certain irregularity in his care, as he is being treated in a military hospital rather than a civilian facility. He was transferred there yesterday. I was unable to determine the reason for the transfer; although Mr. Irons apparently once served in the Army he is now a civilian. In addition, several of your directors would like to talk to you about what they know about the operation. There is a conference call scheduled for eight o'clock."

"Yes, that is very irregular," Bruce sighed. "All right, I'll take a look at it after breakfast."

"But-"

"Yes, sir. Miss Zatanna may I prepare you something?"

"Uh, no thanks. Listen...do what you have to do. I think I better get back to Shadowcrest and check on Spoo and the others anyway."

Bruce at least looked abashed. "I'm sorry, Zee."

"No, I understand," Wonderfully, to Bruce, it sounded like she meant it.

"I'll make it up to you. I'll see you later tonight, promise? We'll go out for dinner, wherever you want."

Zatanna smiled. "It's a promise, then. _Tropsnart ot tsercwodahS_."

Then he was alone, with Alfred.

"Quite a talent the young lady possesses," Alfred handed Bruce his coffee. "I assume that's just one of many."

He didn't miss that. "She's very...talented."

"Well, then, I am glad she uses her talents for good."

Bruce smiled tightly. "Yes, I'm sure she does. What are you trying to say?"

Alfred tidied up the tray, responded with a question of his own. "You haven't told her yet, have you?"

"No. No, I haven't." He looked away.

"Is there a reason?"

"I'll tell her, in good time. Do you have the information on the military hospital this Irons is staying at?"

Alfred heard the dismissive tone, and thought of saying something, but he replied. "It's all in your computer in the Batcave, Master Bruce."

"Very good, I'll be heading down there. Make some restaurant reservations for tonight. Zee and I will be dining out."

"As you wish, Sir."

Bruce sighed as Alfred took the tray and left. It didn't take a great deductive mind to realize that Alfred had much more he wanted to say. However, he realized himself he wasn't yet prepared to share his revelations with Zatanna. He still had much to consider, and he hadn't shared everything with Alfred either.

 _Earlier…_

Alfred had brought him the information following his return from North Dakota and his fruitless investigation into the Bakken explosion. It rested on the tray next to a tea service.

"Your lunch, Master Bruce, and the information you requested."

"Good," Bruce ignored the food as Alfred poured the tea and added milk – very English. It would be a welcome diversion from the problems he'd encountered in his Dakota investigation. He picked up the manila folder, feeling the thinness. "You traced the buyer?"

"Indeed I did, and I discovered something you may find interesting," Alfred replied. "The buyer identified by the former bookseller Mr. Frome on his sales slip is a one Lee Baldwin. He is the CEO of a nonprofit called the Nathaniel Derby Pickman Foundation."

Bruce started at the name and nearly dropped his cup, feeling a chill tighten at the base of his spine.

"Pickman?" He managed to say.

"Yes," Alfred said calmly. "The Nathaniel Derby Pickman Foundation's mission statement is to promote the arts and sciences as a holistic human endeavor. They fund scientific research and artists' programs, all quite regular and proper."

"The name, this-this Nathaniel Derby Pickman. Is there any connection?"

"I am not totally sure," Alfred cleared his throat delicately. "As far as I have been able to ascertain, Nathaniel Derby Pickman was indeed a relation of the Boston artist you made the acquaintance of, but not a close one. He was a wealthy businessman who was born in Arkham but moved west at a young age, first to California then to Taos, New Mexico, where the Foundation is currently headquartered. There is very little personal information about him, other than he never married and had no children, therefore leaving the entirety of his considerable estate to sustain his Foundation."

"What else? Surely there must be some further connection?" His hand tightened on the cup, ignored the heat.

"It seems highly unlikely that they ever even met, although the Foundation reputedly has ownership of several of his paintings, which are not available to the public. The Foundation tends to eschew publicity, preferring to stay in the background while promoting a variety of projects in the sciences, for example the Hadron Particle Collider. They avoid political affiliations of any kind."

Bruce rubbed his chin. "What about the buyer himself. This Lee Baldwin? What of him?"

"There is a biography of him in your folder, Sir."

Bruce impatiently opened the folder and read a bio as might be available on any Web site. A square, color head shot, an imposing-looking black man, bald, and very dark-complected suggesting origins directly from Africa, or the Carribean. He possessed a short length of braided chin beard which gave him the look of an Egyptian pharaoh, or a jazz musician. The bio did not list any personal information, only gave dates of his employment and various projects he had been involved in, including geographic expeditions in Antarctica and in the Middle East.

"Not much here. What else?" Bruce demanded.

"No criminal record, if that is what you mean, not so much as a moving violation. No reports of illegal activity by the Foundation during his tenure, nor any implications of such."

"Why would he want to purchase the _Necronomicon_?"

"As for that, you may learn best by asking him yourself."

Bruce tossed the file back onto his desk, clearly annoyed at its paucity of information. "I intend to."

"Does Miss Zatanna concur with your decision?"

"I haven't told her yet."

Alfred said nothing at first but there was no mistaking the look of quiet concern – and disapproval – on his face. He spoke again.

"As she is an expert on such things, she could-"

"She's been though a lot already. This may be nothing, and I don't want to upset her." Bruce's voice had a distinct edge to it, suggesting he didn't want to talk about it. Alfred wondered at that. He had not shied from asking, sometimes demanding, Zatanna's involvement when needed.

"Will you be requiring the services of anyone else from the League?"

"No. I'll go pay this Mr. Baldwin a visit. Have my plane and suit ready for tonight."

"Sir," Alfred pointed out quietly. "This man is a civilian."

"I'm quite aware of that Alfred, I don't intend any violence unless violence is offered."

"You intend to acquire this book by any means necessary?" Alfred stared at Bruce. "Is it truly that necessary?"

"It may be. It may give us a clue as to what Amanda Waller and her people are up to, what their end game is. I need to know. In any case, that book is stolen property. If it turns out to be useless, I will return it to its prior home at the university."

"If it's not?" Alfred said quietly. "If it is as dangerous as Miss Zatanna suggests?"

Bruce looked at his hand, reddened by his grip on the hot cup. "Then we'll see what to do with it."

 _Taos, New Mexico_

Blood once soaked the ground of the land of Taos, the blood of Native Americans and Spanish conquerors and American soldiers, but most Americans never thought of that, ever since it had developed a reputation as a favorite place of artists and nature-lovers. Still, Bruce thought, blood never forgets, ever. He never would either, the potential for violence, once kindled, was always there. In the most mundane of tasks, Batman was prepared for it.

A chill wind swept down the mountain to its base, through a quiet neighborhood where there were located a number of homes and corporate buildings. Bruce had cased the building where the Nathaniel Derby Pickman Foundation had its offices. Just as Alfred informed him, there was nothing more substantial to this nondescript suburban edifice other than standard security. There was not even a night watchman on duty. It was child's play to bypass any security there was, and gain entry.

He was always on his guard in case there were traps. Simply because a place looked peaceful and unoccupied, didn't mean that it was, and often it wasn't. There could be any number of weapons, manned or automated, waiting for him. However, he detected none; he watched patiently, correctly guessing that Baldwin would work late. It was almost the weekend, and only a handful of people in any of the offices in the five-floor building. The Foundation's offices occupied all of the fifth floor. He saw that some of its lights were on.

Batman had a good idea of where the _Necronomicon_ would be in that building. However, he wanted to meet the CEO in person, and uncover his reasons for buying that book. He knew Alfred disapproved of him going alone, but after the fiasco at Fenderbrake's house, he didn't want to involve Zatanna or even let her know. She would have just shown up. But more importantly, he was afraid she would take the book from him before he had a chance to really peruse it. The risks were minimal in this situation, he believed. Well, he would be proved right or wrong very soon.

From his concealed vantage point, a Prius pulled into the parking lot around dusk. He saw a man matching the description in the bio exit the car. Lee Baldwin was a tall man, of slender proportions, who walked casually into the building without apparent handicap. He didn't look around him as he did so.

Batman felt a sense of anticipation that surprised him, and he forced himself to wait several minutes calming himself before he made his entrance. He passed through hallways and cubicles that seemed oddly empty, and unoccupied, despite what he had read of the Foundation being an active organization. No paintings on the walls. He found himself strangely disappointed by that.

There was no problem. He had gone through several scenarios in his mind about how he would confront this man, in a manner that would result in the outcome he wanted. It took some thought, but he finally decided on a tactic - it wasn't a terribly original or complicated tactic as they went, but it was always effective. It was simply a matter of making his appearance at a time for maximum effect.

It worked.

The CEO of the Nathaniel Derby Pickman Foundation entered his office, and turned his lights on, an action he must have done hundreds of times before without incident. He only saw the Batman when the door slammed behind him.

His eyes widened substantially in his dark face, and his mouth dropped open in shock even as he instinctively retreated hurriedly, putting his credenza between him and the Dark Knight. There was a typical mix of the usual surprise and fear. That didn't necessarily reveal anything. Most people would be quite rattled by having the Batman turn up unexpectedly in one's workplace.

"Wh-what...what are you doing here?" He gasped. He immediately raised his hands to the level of his chest. "Please...I'm not armed! Please don't hurt-"

"You have something that doesn't belong to you, Mr. Baldwin," Batman rasped impatiently, cutting him off. The man gaped at him, but only for a second.

"I-I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"You are in possession of stolen property. You purchased a book from Frome's Antiquarian in Gotham City. I'm here to retrieve it."

Recognition instantly swept over the man's face, but he appeared more confused and surprised than cagey and evasive, as Bruce was used to. "I...you mean, the Dee _Necronomicon_?"

"Yes. You are aware that it was reported stolen from the Miskatonic Library?"

"Yes, of course. But, that was years ago, I mean, I didn't intend to buy stolen property but once I realized what copy it was, I did contact the Library after I had made certain it was the one that was taken, but they have no wish to have it back."

That was true enough, Bruce knew. Through old police channels, Bruce had made inquiries as to the status of that university's efforts to retrieve their property. He had learned that the matter had been shelved many years ago, and that the current administrators were not interested in recovering their property. There had been a certain reticence on the part of the librarians there to discuss the matter at all, he'd noted.

"Where is it?" Batman demanded.

"It's...right here. I will get it."

Slowly and carefully, as if someone was holding a gun on him, Baldwin opened the bottom cabinet of his desk and removed the book. He carefully placed it on top of the desk.

Batman looked at it a moment. A thick volume bound in a dark leather. There were no markings the cover. It looked old but not particularly distinctive.

"I assure you, I had no intention to participate in any illegal activity."

Bruce wasn't yet convinced. "Why did you purchase this book? Was it to use it?"

"'Use...it'?" Baldwin looked puzzled. "I don't understand you."

Bruce approached him closer, and the man looked alarmed but to his credit he didn't cringe.

"There are people who believe that books like the _Necronomicon_ can give great power. They want to use it to create trouble."

"Oh!" For a moment the black man actually looked amused, almost as if he might laugh despite his alarm. "No, no of course not! This was a purchase on behalf of the Foundation, one of our new projects to preserve rare and ancient books. There is certainly no intention to practice witchcraft! We are dedicated to the sciences and the arts, not, ah, religious worship."

 _Obviously none of you have met a homo magii_ then, Bruce thought. He studied the man closely, he was very good at determining if a person was lying but he didn't see any of the signs in the man's face.

"Regardless of what you personally believe, Mr. Baldwin, there are people who believe and would go to great lengths to acquire this book for that person."

"Ah...I see what you mean," Baldwin said. He seemed to relax slightly. "Then, you should know Mr. Bat...Batman, that this particular _Necronomicon_ is not the true _Necronomicon_."

Bruce was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"This is the John Dee translation. Do you know who John Dee was?"

"A court astrologer in the time of Elizabeth I."

Baldwin nodded. "Yes. Many have believed he was a magician, but what is often forgotten was that he was a devout Protestant Christian. He would not have been allowed at the court of Elizabeth I if he was known to be involved in Satanism or black magic."

Batman stared at the book. "You mean that that is a fake?"

"No, not quite. Yes, this is a translation of the _Necronomicon_ , but only one of them, and the least faithful to the original, perhaps. Dee was working from an earlier, Latin copy, perhaps the Wormius edition, which may or may not have been a translation from the Arabic original. That is the true _Necronomicon,_ the _Kitab Al-Azif,_ composed perhaps in Damascus, or Yemen by the so-called Abdul Alhazred, which is most likely a pseudonym as it is not a real Arabic name. John Dee made a faithful copy, but he appended much of it, and most of it is his own work, which includes many warnings on its content, which is barely readable in any case."

Baldwin was warming up to his subject, he was clearly very fascinated by the book, even if he claimed not to believe in its alleged powers. "The original _Kitab Al Azif_ is believed to be lost, but I have heard, ah, rumors, that it may have been rediscovered recently. Possibly by an American soldier in Afghanistan. But that may not be really true, one hears so many rumors when one gets involved in acquiring lost books. In any case, it may be more than our Foundation can afford, if it ever became available on the open market."

"This _Necronomicon_ ," Batman said. "What can it do? What is it supposed to do?"

Baldwin shrugged. "Open doors. That's what all books do, really. Books are powerful of course, but not because of the occult. It is the ideas they engender in the mind. The Bible or the Koran is more potent than any so-called grimoire, or even _Das Kapital_ or a boy scout manual. But I suppose what the attraction is, is that it is supposed to reveal ways of prolonging human life, or contacting supernatural forces. That has been its attraction throughout the centuries. I must say it makes no sense to me, but the illustrations made by Dee are certainly fascinating. That is why we wanted it for our project."

Baldwin paused, staring at the Batman. "Since you are here, someone of your...stature, you must think that there is some real danger here. Is that so?"

Batman only gave the slightest nod. "I cannot let this book remain here. Poor translation or not, it is still dangerous, in the hands of certain people. I can't tell you more than that, Mr. Baldwin."

"What...are you going to do with it?" Baldwin asked.

"I...will take it where it can't be used for evil purposes. If Miskatonic University does not want it, it will relocated where it can't be used. If you contact the Gotham City Police Department, there may be a way you recoup your investment. I believe Mr. Frome was willing to return some of the funds," Batman said grimly.

Batman was prepared for an argument but Baldwin seemed not to be put out by the loss of his investment. If he had caught the white lie in Bruce's voice, he didn't seem to notice, or care. He only nodded, thoughtfully, as if the matter no longer concerned him. He turned to go but then the man's deep voice arrested him.

"Wait, Batman. I have something else for you."

Bruce turned, on his guard. Baldwin had reached into his desk and brought out something else. A file, bulging with papers, held together by a thick rubber band.

"I didn't know who else to bring this information to. I was afraid of contacting the Gotham City Police knowing how they…" he lifted his hands helplessly.

Batman stared at the file. "What is that? What are you talking about?"

"I...believe I know the identity of the Joker."

 _To be continued…._

* * *

 **[A/N: Thanks again for reading! If you're wondering if there is something...familiar about Lee Baldwin's appearance, you may be correct, but you have to be familiar with the Lovecraft canon, I'm afraid. But what does he have on the Joker? What is Bruce going to do with the Necronomicon? Just enough to get himself in trouble, lol. For all the SMWW fans, next chapter we'll be visiting them again, and for those of you wondering what Deathstroke is up to, will get an a character from my first JL story, The Red House, will reappear! Please review, and hope to have that one up soon.]**


	14. Chapter 14 - More Forbidden Books

**Chapter 14 – More Forbidden Books**

 _Iceland_

Billy Batson stood on a dun-colored beach, boredly watching Wonder Woman and a blonde metahuman female whack each other with sword and shield on the sandy flat surface of the Icelandic coast. It was very cold, and his white cape fluttered in the chilly wind. Wonder Woman was in her full Amazonian war-dress, complete with helmet and greaves, and she looked both very regal and very lethal - of course she didn't feel the cold at all.

The metahuman she was fighting seemed almost as formidable: she was a statuesque Scandinavian woman who called herself Brynhilde and claimed she was a 'daughter of the Aesir,' whatever that was. She looked as tough as Wondy, although her armor was all black chainmail and leather, and her hair was blonde and dressed in some sort of dreadlocks-style. She'd made a name for herself by fighting criminals and terrorists in her homeland, all without official sanction of course, which made her something of a vigilante, just like Batman, Billy thought. She refused to cooperate with the local authorities, and the government of her country had begged the Justice League for help.

"Go and talk to her," Batman had told Wonder Woman. "See if she will listen to you."

"To say what? And, why me?" She retorted with folded arms. "Because I'm a woman?"

"No," Batman replied tersely. "Although it appears she has some things in common with you, doesn't she? She could be a valuable ally to the Justice League. See if you can convince her to at least take an interest." It wasn't exactly a suggestion, his having heard Bats' tone.

However, it seemed this Brynhilde lady wasn't in the mood for a new job, or peaceful dialogue for that matter. Whatever communication Diana made, she replied with a public challenge through a local television station, which went viral worldwide rapidly. She accused Diana of all but being a sell-out for working with the male-dominated League, or something like that, which Billy thought was totally unfair. It wasn't her fault!

"Come and fight me, Wonder Woman," she had sneered. "Prove to me you are still the warrior you claim to be, and not the lapdog of these supermen in your so-called Justice League. I fight for _my_ honor, and the honor of _my_ people! If you wish my acquiescence then you must win it."

Or that was the translation anyway, it had all been in Swedish. But it would have had the same affect no matter what language: getting Diana's hackles up. Diana didn't waste time after that. Personally, Billy thought this Brynhilde chick just wanted to act tough but the next thing he knew, Batman had ordered him to go and referee the duel to take place, although what exactly what he was supposed to do he wasn't sure. 'Make sure no one gets hurt' Batman had ordered - and just how was he supposed to do that, especially where Wonder Woman was involved?

Still, though, he thought it would be an _epic_ fight.

Now, though, he wished he'd brought a chair, and his phone. This 'superwomen's duel' was really boring, just a bunch of repetitive clashing of swords that he could tell, as he watched Diana and the other lady slam sword and shield against each other for what seemed like forever, testing each others' strengths and weaknesses, leaping about. It was nothing like the action in the _Titans Against Rome_ movies, which he really liked. Now there was some _real_ sword fighting action! They should have taken lessons from their fight coordinator.

Billy thought it might be more exciting if the other ladies would join in; Brynhilde had not come alone - there were four other women, also dressed up, whom she called her 'shieldmaidens.' All of them were at least six feet tall, glaring at Diana as if they'd all like to beat on her too. But Diana wasn't to be shown up - she had brought her own entourage of Amazons, among them Lois Lane and a couple of others he didn't know. It looked like Lois would write a juicy story, since she was filming the whole thing. Either side glared at the other, rooting for their respective champion to win. Billy just hoped someone would get the upper hand, and get this all over soon - he had homework to finish.

Diana gritted her teeth as she attempted a side-slash of her _xiphos_ , which her opponent narrowly avoided; she raised her shield in time to avoid having her head split open by Brynhilde's flashing longsword. Her sudden kick thrust Diana backwards, nearly throwing her off her feet, but she regained her balance in time. This Brynhilde was a talented fighter, and her initial assumption that this was just a boastful false meta or a human troll trying to make a name for herself had all but dissipated. Diana wondered where she came from, where she got her training. She was not an Amazon, she was certain, but her skills had proven her nearly the equal of one.

Nearly.

It didn't matter. She hadn't had a proper fight in a long time, and she probably would not for many months in the future, until her baby was born. Clark had not wanted her to fight at all, but that was understandable. She hoped he wasn't sulking at home with Jon. The thought of the two of them, sitting at home waiting for her with matching sulks, didn't exactly fill her with feels.

Brynhilde grinned fiercely. "What is wrong, Amazon?" She taunted Diana, seeing her expression. "I am not the easy target you expected?"

"You fight well," Diana admitted. "But not well enough!"

Diana lunged at Brynhilde, and in a rapid flurry of sword-strokes pushed her back against the jagged row of rocks that protruded at the water's edge. Although the Scandinavian tried, she was unable to regain the offensive - Diana saw to that. A final sword-thrust shattered her opponent's round-shield. Another knocked the longsword from her grip, and everyone watching gasped as Diana's sword hovered an inch from Brynhilde's throat.

"Yield, and I will spare you," Wonder Woman proclaimed. "You fought well, and I do not want to harm you."

"Hah!" Brynhilde spat to the side. "Why should I surrender? So I can take orders from men? Lose my identity?"

Diana glared but she could see in the woman's defiant face something of herself, from years ago. A tinge of disquiet filled her - had she really changed so much? What would the Diana of years ago have thought of her? Was her change such a bad thing, that even another warrior-women would scorn it?

"No," Diana said quietly, forcing herself to focus on her mission. Only Brynhilde could hear her voice. "No one will take your identity from you, least of all me. If you work within the Justice League, you will have many allies, and if you choose not to...I still extend to you my hand in peace. That is the Amazon way."

Diana roved her sword from Brynhilde's throat and sheathed it, replaced it with her outstretched arm. The blonde metahuman stared at it, and her, for a long moment. There was no sound except the surf. Slowly, she stood up, then she bent down to retrieve her fallen sword. For a moment, the observers thought she would resume the fight. Diana just stood there, motionless.

Then, Brynhilde knelt down on one knee.

"I yield, Wonder Woman," Brynhilde said, her sword held horizontal in her palms. "Whatever you wish to have me do, I will accept."

Diana nodded, taking the other woman's arm in the warrior-grip. "Thank you, Brynhilde of the Aesir. I am glad to name you 'sister.'"

The ladies on both sides cheered, seeing that their champions hadn't lost face. Billy Batson sighed. Now maybe he could go home!

* * *

 _United States_

 _Somewhere in the Pacific Northwest_

Clark shut off his Internet connection once it was clear the fight was over; he sighed and began putting away his work: a mass of papers, laptop and USB drives scattered on the kitchen table. If past experience was any guide, Diana would be headed straight home rather than debrief at the Watchtower; she would still have adrenalin running through her veins, and she wouldn't be in any mood to talk. In fact, from his past experience, he knew she would also be very, very horny. Something about fighting and being pregnant, especially together, threw her hormones out of control.

Jon was sleeping in his room, and the small cottage was quiet. Being at home all day wasn't as tiresome as he initially feared. He had a lot of material he needed to put in some sort of publishable form, and Lois was still as tight as ever about her deadlines. He had already submitted several articles about the Bakken camp and the subsequent destruction, and he got a lot of good feedback from them. Still, the explosion still remained under investigation - meaning unsolved - although the corporation was alleging worker carelessness, which wasn't Clark's conclusion at all. Still, it bothered him that he was unable to uncover anything more substantial. Bruce had not gotten back to him and that was really frustrating. He was also unable to find out what had happened to his friend, John Henry Irons; all he discovered was that he was alive but still hospitalized, but due to medical privacy laws he couldn't find out where he was. He didn't have his family's contact information so he was unable to call them to find out if they were okay.

To deal with his frustration, Clark had taken up jogging in the woods that surrounded the cottage. He ran at a normal 'human' pace although he thought he could do much faster if he tried. But speed wasn't what he was aiming for. He could see why people retreated to 'nature' whenever they became upset, and he supposed he did the same thing by going to the Fortress, but here there was still people. He saw other similar houses on his runs, and occasionally he glimpsed people outside, although he hadn't (yet) stopped to talk to any of them. For now, he was content just to be at home, although he was sure he would be craving the noise of a Metropolis soon.

 _Patience,_ he told himself. _I need to let my powers come back on their own, and they are coming back._ Still, it was difficult to wait.

Just as Clark expected, Diana arrived home in five minutes after the fight, looking sweaty and grimy and at the same time impossibly gorgeous. She looked quite pleased with herself, and he knew he was right in his prediction.

"Did you see it?" She asked excitedly. "What did you think?"

"Yes, well, it was very, um, epic. Are you all right?"

"Never better!" Diana tossed her sword-belt onto the couch and headed for the kitchen, and the fridge. "I'm happy that we may have a new member for the League. I was worried she wouldn't yield, but I offered her amity and she accepted. She is an excellent fighter, I am sure she will make a great member of the League."

"I wasn't worried about her, to be honest."

Diana finished off the remaining Gatorade she'd found, approached her husband. He touched her belly, which was beginning to swell, felt the soft warmth under his open palm

"You know I would never endanger our child," Diana said, taking Clark's head between her hands, ruffling his black hair. "It is the most precious thing in the world to me."

"I know that, but you know I can't help worrying about you."

"And I know that," Diana sighed. "I'm truly happy that you're back home. Jon is happy too, I can tell. I know it must be difficult for you."

Clark shook his head. "No, it's not difficult for me at all. I promise I won't leave you alone again."

Diana smiled and stepped back; with slow and deliberate movements, she began removing her sand-and-mud splattered armor and corselet. One by one, her garments fell on the floor about her feet, until she stood naked before him. Glorious.

Clark pretended to be perplexed. "What are you doing? You know I'm very busy...can't you see I've got so much to do around the house..."

Diana mock-snarled at him. "I've just come back from battle. You know what I need."

Clark stuttered. "But...I really can't right now...I'm very busy. I have many papers to edit."

Diana growled again, grasping his shirt. She knew Clark was full of BS since he was wearing one of his old and ripped gym T-shirts, one he wouldn't miss if she tore it off his body.

"I'll give you papers to edit! Get in the bedroom, Superman, no more talk!"

That was true enough, Clark thought, he would need his mouth for another type of work...

 _Afterwards_

Clark lay on his back, feeling indeed quite relaxed, just as his wife was, who stretched out luxuriously beside him, a hand playing with the hairs on his chest. Once he had lost most of his powers, he was afraid he would no longer be able to...pleasure Diana adequately, but Diana assured him that was not the case. Still he sometimes felt it was awkward for Diana - she couldn't ride him, her favorite position, as she liked, as the first time she had done she had inadvertently cracked two of his ribs. Clark had laughed it off, but it made Diana nervous and she had resigned herself to simply trying to be as still as possible.

Still, Diana looked as if she had been adequately satisfied; she reached over and grasped his hand.

"You are happy?" She whispered.

"Of course," Clark replied. "Always, when I'm with you." But he knew what she was really asking. He added, "I'll go back to the Watchtower, or the Hall, soon, whatever your prefer."

She kissed his cheek, and started talking about the League. Clark felt as if she'd been waiting to bring it up for some time. She usually wasn't very gossipy, so she must be particularly pleased. He listened silently as she went on about the goings-on with everyone. It didn't seem like anything particularly out of the ordinary was happening. He wondered when she would bring up Bruce, knowing they still hadn't talked since the explosion.

It didn't take very long.

"And Zatanna's still dating Bruce," she added nonchalantly. "Although they've taken care not to be seen together, at work anyway."

"What?"

"Oh, you didn't know?" Diana replied nonchalantly, although Clark knew she was relishing the reveal. At heart he knew Diana could be quite a gossip, although he'd never tell her that to her face.

"The question is, how do _you_ know?"

"Well...he didn't make a big announcement. But ever since she moved in with him at the Manor..."

Clark was definitely surprised. "She's... _living_ with him?" He simply couldn't imagine her, or any woman for that matter, moving in with the most paranoid man he knew.

Diana read the expression on his face. "Bizarre, yes? Personally, I am happy for him. She may be just what he needs."

"Maybe," Clark murmured. "But what is she getting out of it?"

"Perhaps she loves him?" Diana looked at him as if he'd said something quite weird. "Doesn't even a man such as Bruce deserve love and happiness?"

"Oh, Diana, that's-"

He was about to voice his doubts as to whether that was even possible, but then he wondered if Diana was maybe right. What was so crazy about the idea? As infuriating as he could be, Bruce Wayne was, he admitted it, still his friend.

"I know what you're thinking," Diana admonished him. "Bruce is a man, just like anyone else. You should talk to him. Let's go see him, together. It's been too long you were away."

Diana rolled against him, and the way she smiled at him reawakened at least a few powers he knew he hadn't lost.

Clark laughed. "Sure. Why not?"

* * *

 _Portland, Oregon_

 _Next Day_

The Daily World ran a small office to handle their West Coast operations, a premier site with a view over the Willamette River. Lois Lane used it when she decided commercial real estate in Los Angeles and San Francisco was just too expensive. Lois had asked Clark to meet with her and Clark had thought it was to do with his investigation of Bakken. Diana had come with him, hoping to do a bit of sightseeing and shopping, Jon in tow.

After Lois got in her round of cooing over Jon, she was all business. To Clark's dismay, she wasn't interested in what he'd labored over his typewriter the past week.

"Actually, no," Lois said, surprising and mildly annoying him. "I don't need another Bakken piece right now, we don't want to overwhelm the readership."

"It's not like a new TV series," Clark grumbled. "Since when are we worried about putting out too much news?"

"I get what you're saying, Smallville, but trust me, I know what I'm doing."

"I've heard that before."

Lois pretended not to hear that and handed him an 8X11 envelope. "This is why I asked you to come: we received this at our main _Daily World_ office in Metropolis. But there's another letter inside that's for you, addressed to Mr. Clark Kent."

"Really? Who from?" Clark was surprised. He didn't usually receive any personal mail, especially not lately after he'd been forced to adopt an assumed name.

"Your local library," Lois couldn't help a dig. "What's the matter, Smallville, did you forget to return a book?"

Puzzled, Clark took the large envelope from her. He opened it and saw a regular-sized envelope within postmarked from Smallville, Kansas. The return address was indeed that of its local library, where he had spent so much time as a boy.

"No," he said with seriousness. "I never forgot to return a book."

"Then what's it about?" Lois demanded with her typical nosiness.

"Let me open it first!"

He did so and his eyes widened in total surprise. Diana and Lois exchanged looks.

"It's a letter from Mrs. Oates," he finally said.

"And...who is Mrs. Oates?" Lois demanded. "What's this about?"

"She's, well, she's the town librarian."

"Really?" Lois raised an eyebrow. "So why would the 'town librarian' be writing you? Are you _sure_ you don't owe a lot of late fees?"

Clark quickly read the letter. It didn't take him long, it was brief, taking up only one page of plain stationary:

 _Dear Clark,_

 _It's Kathy Oates, your favorite librarian! I hope you remember me as well as I remember you! I was very happy to see you again the last time you were in Smallville. I wished you could have stayed longer in our small town, but I understand why you left. It is a shame there are not enough jobs in our town to support a small family! I sincerely you and your pretty wife are doing okay. I haven't heard or seen you on the news lately and I really hope nothing is wrong._

 _Anyway, I am writing to you because I have an issue I need to talk with you about directly. I remember where you used to work, but I didn't want to use your email. I addressed my letter to your editor, Ms. Lane. I hope you will contact me soon, since it is of a very urgent nature._

 _Please understand._

 _Best,_

 _Your old friend, Kathy Oates._

Diana and Lois couldn't help but read over his shoulder. "How very strange," Diana said. "I had no idea she was an old friend of yours."

"But she's not, I mean, she's not really even a family friend," Clark replied, clearly confused. "I never saw her outside the library. I know she went to our church and I think she and Ma were on the same church activities committee for awhile, but it's not like she ever visited at our house or anything like that. She's always been active in Smallville community events and the county fair-"

Lois wasn't interested in Clark's history of small town life. "Ooo…kayyy. So would she ask you to return to Smallville to see her, then?"

"I really don't know."

There was silence for a moment as they all pondered this. "Hm. Then I wonder…" Lois frowned. "Do you think it's possible the police are using her to lure you in?"

"Like a sting? Oh, Lois!" Clark shook his head in disbelief. "I doubt it, she's not the type to be a police informant!"

But Diana seemed to be of the same mind as the journalist, looking concerned.

"Wait, I think Lois could be right," she said slowly. "They could have threatened her into helping them."

Clark sounded slightly irritated. "Who's 'they'?"

"You know, 'they.' I mean…the police."

Clark rolled his eyes. "I hardly think the Orange County Police went to Smallville to intimidate the librarian!"

"I'm serious, Clark! Remember, it's not just the local police, it's also the Feds and even A.R.G.U.S., since you were involved with your uncle and everything that went down from that. I'm sure they still want to find you."

Clark shook his head. "The case was closed, I checked."

"That doesn't mean they haven't stopped looking for you," Lois pointed out. "Or, maybe it's something else altogether, people you've pissed off with your reporting, even from way back."

"It also may not have anything to do with that, either. It could be that this woman that is in trouble," Diana added.

Lois didn't look convinced by that idea. "What kind of trouble could a librarian possibly be in?"

"Well, I won't know until I ask her," Clark said.

Lois and Diana both stared at him. "Then, you _are_ going to see her?" Lois said.

"She did ask me. I need to find out what's going on, if it's really serious and she's in trouble."

Lois scowled. She wasn't sure what to think – her suspicion was that this Oates woman was just some senile old lady needing attention, or it could be a trap of some kind.

"Hold on a minute, let me see if I can find out anything online - has anything been going on in Smallville lately?"

Clark shook his head. "Not that I know of. I haven't been there in over two years, ever since..."

Clark was about to say, _the_ _Red House_ , a memory he didn't care to bring up. It occurred to him that all the strangeness that had afflicted him, and the Justice League, had begun from that.

"Clark, I don't know," Diana said concernedly while Lois turned on her tablet. "I know it's a stretch that it could be A.R.G.U.S. but we can't ignore the fact that you're still a wanted man, don't forget that."

Clark stiffened, waiting for Diana to remind him of his lessened abilities but to his relief Lois spoke first.

"I don't see anything trending about Smallville in the news, not that Smallville usually trends," Lois reported, her fingers tapping rapidly on her tablet's surface. "Nothing unusual. Weather stuff. Oh, wait - it looks like she retired a week or so ago after over thirty years in the job. It made the state news, looks like an nice little writeup. She got a plaque."

"She did?" Clark exclaimed. "Wow. It seems like she's been at the library since forever, she was there when I was a kid. She was always really nice, and helped all the kids with their school projects and everyone liked her..."

"I'm sure she did. I bet she couldn't wait to retire."

"So no problems in Smallville, at least publicly," Diana interjected. "That leaves us with no idea still, as to why Mrs. Oates wants to talk to you."

"Like I said, the best way to find out is go to talk to the source," Clark said matter-of-factly.

"You're not going alone," Diana said firmly, in a tone of voice Clark knew better than to argue with.

"Whatever you find, how about writing that up," Lois suggested. "Some nice home town news, local boy helps out old local lady - a change, anyway, your pieces have been so gloomy lately. It's about time you wrote something optimistic!"

 _Later..._

Clark gave the directions to J'onn J'onzz, who was to accompany him personally back to Smallville and the address, which led to a little well-kept house about five miles south of Smallville itself. J'onn had taken human form, of a middle-aged, white male, a driver; his car had an Uber sticker on the windshield.

Plastic Man's eyes winked out at them from the dash.

"If anyone does try to jump us, they'll be in for one hell of a surprise!" Plas said, his voice coming from the faux-speakers. "Do you really think anyone's gonna try?"

"I don't sense anything unusual," J'onn replied. "But, I'll be watching. Diana is, of course, monitoring from the Watchtower, along with half a dozen others."

"I'm sure this isn't a big deal," Clark shook his head. He was feeling a little silly with all these precautions, and a little weird that he was sitting on a person to travel. "This is a lot of fuss about nothing."

"Perhaps," J'onn said. "But we must never underestimate A.R.G.U.S. "

"Or it could be an alien, in the form of this friend of yours!" Plas added. "Maybe he killed her and took her form and-"

"Let's try to think positive," Clark grumbled.

Clark shook his head as J'onn and Plas started exchanging theories. He really couldn't believe Mrs. Oates was part of any nefarious plot against him, but if she was truly being used, or threatened in any way, he had to help her, somehow, no matter if he was depowered or not. If he couldn't fight whoever was using her, he would make damned sure his friends would take care of them, if that was the situation.

They pulled up the driveway, and Clark saw a Toyota in the driveway. He assumed it was Mrs. Oates' as there were no other cars in the driveway.

"Should I go in with you?" J'onn asked.

"No, I'll be fine. Just wait on the road."

"How're we gonna know if you're in trouble?" Plastic Man asked.

"I'll know," J'onn reassured him. "I am able to sense hostilities. Right now, I don't sense anyone else within miles. I can tell that there is a woman in the house, and she is alone."

"Good," Clark said. "Look, I'm sure I'll be fine. I'll call you when I'm ready to leave. There's nothing to worry about."

"Okay," Plas replied, but he still sounded doubtful.

Clark waited until Plas' car form crunched gravel on the way back out the driveway, although he knew they wouldn't go far. He turned and looked at the house. Just an ordinary place, he was certain this was all some kind of misunderstanding He walked up to the porch and rang the doorbell.

He didn't wait long. The door opened a few moments later, revealing a middle-aged, slightly overweight nondescript woman, dressed in JC Penny-wear, and her auburn hair tied up in a neat bun.

"Clark!" Mrs. Oates eyes' widened in delight and surprise. "My Lord! I'm so happy to see you!"

Clark returned her smile, but his reporter's eye looked for anything untoward; they exchanged the typical pleasantries, and she invited him inside. It was as if he was making a typical Sunday visit, although he had never been inside her home before. Her home was just as well-kept and tidy as her front yard, decorated typically Mid-American, a few framed Bible verses done in needlepoint were on the walls. There were photos of her and another man on the coffee table, and he assumed it was her late husband. He remembered he must have died at least 20 years ago, fairly young, he'd been killed in a tractor rollover accident - Mrs. Oates had been a widow for some time, everyone knew.

Within minutes, he was on her sofa in the living room, and she was in the kitchen to get some refreshments. She didn't seem particularly put-out or even surprised that he'd just turned up at her house without prior notice despite her letter.

Clark sat and listened patiently as Mrs. Oates bustled around the kitchen getting some pound cake and iced tea, and chatted about the local happenings, the weather. Although he didn't have all his heightened senses, his reporter's intuition alone told him clearly that she was very nervous...perhaps even frightened. He didn't understand why…she couldn't possibly be frightened of him, could she?

Finally, she sat down across from him on the matching recliner, food and glasses on the coffee table between them, smiling awkwardly with a glass of the fresh iced tea in her hand.

"Congratulations on retiring!" Clark said, trying to keep up the small talk. "I never thought you'd leave the library."

"Oh...well..." Mrs. Oates chuckled. "I enjoyed my work, but it was time, I suppose. They have a nice young lady working there, and she's bilingual, which is a big help with all our Mexican families. I thought it was about time...I thought I'd go on a cruise with some ladies from the Rotary .Anyway, that's enough about me - what have you been up to? What about your lovely family?"

Clark smiled, although he was careful not to share too much. "I'm doing well, and Baby Jon's fine, although he's not so much of a baby now! He's almost two! My wife's also expecting a second one."

"Oh my, that's so wonderful for you, Clark!" Mrs. Oates exclaimed delightedly. "I always knew you'd be a good family man…I mean, your ma and pa did really such a wonderful job...we'd wondered, sometimes..."

She went silent and looked down at her glass, an odd expression on her face suddenly. Clark stared at her, puzzled.

"I mean," Mrs. Oates continued in a quieter tone of voice. "We'd wondered….we just wondered how you'd turn out, I mean with...everything that you are," She finally said quietly.

"I…don't understand what you mean."

"I think you do, Clark."

There was a long silence neither of them dared to break for some time.

"You knew." Clark finally said. It wasn't a question.

Mrs. Oates looked up at him, and it seemed as if she'd just gotten something enormous off her chest. "Yes, Clark, I knew. Almost from the beginning, in fact."

Clark sat very still, thinking of all the times he'd been in the Smallville Library, asking her for help for one thing or another. Not once had he ever imagined she knew or even guessed he wasn't human. She never treated him differently...although now, he remembered, sometimes he'd caught her watching him closely, but then he'd thought it was because she thought he was trying to look at the "adult" books.

"Oh, I should also say...I wasn't the _only_ one, heavens no, not the only one in Smallville anyway."

Clark sat back in amazement; his glass of iced tea sat forgotten on the table next to hers. "What? How-how many?"

"Oh, not that many, don't worry. Just a few of us old folks. There was old Mr. Johnson your neighbor, and his wife. Ben Hubbard down the road, may he rest in peace, the old coot. Doc Potter. Reverend Dyer..."

"The minister?" Clark shook his head in astonishment. "Pa never mentioned...how did you find out?"

Mrs. Oates sighed. "You couldn't have been more than three or four at the time. Martha had left her pocketbook in the library, and I thought I'd drop it off on my way home. I was driving up the road to your house, and then I saw...I just about ran off the road! My, my, you were leaping just like a little gazelle! I can still remember the look on your face! You looked like you were having the time of your life! As for me I thought I was going crazy! Then, I could hear your Ma calling after you, trying to catch you. She didn't see me - I had to pull over for awhile, and then I drove home and went straight to bed. I never did return your mother's pocketbook, not that day, anyway, she came in later..."

"You kept a secret for that long! All this time."

"Well, I guess you ought to know, it took some doing. The folks that did know, like I said, not many, we had a meeting at the church, not long after that. That was thanks to Ben, I guess he was the last to really learn. He saw you set your Pa's field on fire. You probably don't remember."

"Oh, I do."

"Well, he originally wanted to report everything to the authorities, although which 'authorities' I'm sure even he wasn't sure. One thing led to another, and we ended up having a meeting, the Reverend set it up in the church. Come to think of it, I don't know how _he_ knew, but he did. Never told me anyway. I remember it clear as day, Ben and Ed arguing, Reverend Dyer just sitting there in the back with that big King James Bible he always carried, quiet. I was with Martha, as you can imagine she was quite upset I could tell, after all they were talking about revealing your secret to the world! Well, she did, to us, how they found you in the wreck of the whatever-it-was. Ben, you know he had just watched one too many _Twilight Zone_ episodes, he was going on about how you were too dangerous to be around 'normal folks.' 'What's he going to be like when he's bigger?' He kept saying. Mrs. Johnson, she usually hardly said anything, even on the Activities Committee which she and I were on at the church but-"

Clark interrupted her rambling speech. "But you never...told anyone, I mean."

Mrs. Oates sighed. "Yes. When it came down to it, it was Ed Johnson and his wife who pointed out that what Ben was proposing would be taking a kid away from the only parents he ever knew, and giving him over to the government, and you know what he thought of _that_. Doc Potter was there, too...did you know his degree was in veterinary science, not medicine? Anyway, he pointed out the government would just use you as a guinea pig, if they could. That got everyone to thinking. Plus your Pa said they would have to pry you from his cold dead hands before they would give you up."

Mrs. Oates smiled slightly at the memory. "Even after that, Ben still wasn't convinced, then Reverend Dyer managed to bring him 'round, said his only condition was that you attend Sunday School. 'If he is raised with Christian values and is right with the Lord, then he'll be all right for us - remember he is also one of God's children.' He's a good man, it's a shame he's getting so poorly-"

"Yes, I remember going to Sunday School. I had a good time there, that's where I met Lana, and Pete."

The memory of Lana Lang, and what happened to her, still upset him, and he fell silent. Mrs. Oates nodded gently, seeing his face. She patted his knee.

"I know you miss them. You're a good man, Clark. No matter what those people on TV say, like that awful Luthor person! You did us proud. Oh my, it felt good to say all that! To finally say it out loud!"

"Is that why you asked me to come back to Smallville, Mrs. Oates?"

"No, not...exactly. It's about something else."

She wrung her hands a little more, and Clark could see her become upset. "Whatever it is, please tell me. Maybe I could help."

The former librarian groaned miserably. "Oh, I know you want to Clark! Please believe me, I didn't want to involve you in this-this awful business!"

She spoke with such emotion that Clark wondered what it could be, but it was clearly serious.

"What is it? If you're in any trouble..?"

"It's not that kind of trouble," Mrs. Oates replied. "It's about a break-in, at the library, a couple of weeks ago. I discovered it when I re-opened the library after the weekend."

Clark sat back, more than a little perplexed. "A break in?"

"Not the kind that makes the big city news, I'm sure. Well, it didn't make any news at all, since I didn't report it."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Nothing of monetary worth was taken, not even the petty cash I kept in my drawer. All the doors were locked, but I knew someone had broken in when I wasn't there. I know my library."

"Then, how did you know? What exactly's going on?"

There was another a long pause, in which Mrs. Oates looked doubtful of going on, but Clark waited, as patiently as he could.

"I guess I should start at the beginning," She finally said. "It was about a year or so before Doc Potter passed away. You'd already left Smallville then, if I remember correctly. He came driving up to the library in that old jalopy of his, you remember, his Model-T? It was right before closing time. I even remember the weather that day, one of our hot spells. I was surprised to see him, I knew by then he hardly ever left his house, and I wasn't even sure if he was still there, though I do think he did have a hired caregiver from the home care agency and-"

She shook her head at her own distraction. "Never mind. I don't know if you or your family knew, how Doc was in World War II?"

"Smallville legend had it he was in the OSS."

"Yes, in a way. I imagine it was a branch of the OSS, as he explained it to me, but even more secret."

This was another surprising development. He had never heard that Doc Potter ever talked about his war experiences, although people had asked him to speak at the school for Veterans' Day and Memorial Day events but he'd always refused, or so he'd heard. "He actually told you about what he did?"

"Yes. To get my support, you see."

"For what?"

"He asked if I could keep some books for him, in the basement of the library."

Clark waited for her to say more but she was silent again. "That was all?" For a moment he began to wonder again if perhaps the librarian was suffering from her own confusion.

"That was all. I must have sounded like you do, just now. So he told me they weren't just _any_ books. These books were…were _different_. I guess you could call them occult texts, 'grimoires' was one word he used, I think, but I knew he meant something else. He said they were worse. He described them as something like the supernatural version of a manual to make an atom bomb, books that provided knowledge of...of terrible things."

She wrung her hands again. "Things like…things like what happened at the Red House."

Clark went cold, all over. He stared at her. "You knew about that? You _knew_?"

"Many people did, Clark," Mrs. Oates looked miserable. "I'm so sorry. I know that was why your left Smallville."

"How did he get involved in all that?" Any thought he had of Mrs. Oates merely suffering from premature dementia had vanished.

Now it was Mrs. Oates' turn to look surprised. "It was his speciality. He was always something of a 'gifted' individual - back in the day he was like, oh, what they call a 'polymath' I suppose. He stood out, in a small town like this! I guess that was why he got that scholarship when he was only 16, for that big school back East, I think it was the Miskatonic University, he'd said. That was where he was recruited for the war, something to do with stopping the Nazis from getting their hands on this evil knowledge. He wasn't very specific, but he said that was where he got those books he had, he said they came straight from Himmler's private library."

"Why did he ask you to keep them in the library, of all places?" Clark asked, astonished.

"That was what I asked too. He said he knew he didn't have long to live. He didn't have any living relatives, least none that anyone knew of. He said the government would go through his belongings when he'd passed on, I guess he thought he still had special 'papers' that were classified or something, and maybe he thought they'd take those books. He'd stopped working for the government, some time in the mid-sixties. I suspect he knew more about the Kennedy assassination than he let on," Mrs. Oates added ominously.

"Why didn't he just destroy them?"

"I asked him that also! He just said he couldn't bring himself to, not after witnessing the Nazis and their big book burnings, before the war. He loved books, I guess even the bad ones. When Doc Potter finally did pass, and I think it was just a month after I'd agreed to help him, he was right - as far as anyone knew, his estate all went to the government. I heard tell from Ben and some others that strangers came and went through his home, in the middle of the night, but I can't vouch as to the truth of that."

Clark focused on what she'd said earlier. "You...said you agreed to take his library?"

The elderly lady nodded, her eyes beginning to water. "Oh, I know everyone in town just thought of him as some old eccentric shut-in, but he was really a wonderful man, and so generous with his help, to the church and other charities around town, including supporting the library and he never asked for or wanted any recognition. So he was ignored. People thought he was one of those rich misers, living in poverty, but in truth he just had his little pension and Social Security. He never asked for help, or favors from others. So when he asked me to help him. I took them and I kept them in the basement, not in the stacks of course. No one else knew they were there, not the Friends of the Library volunteers, not the Mayor, no one."

"But why?" Clark persisted. "Why...I mean, why didn't he give them to some university? Anywhere else?"

"So no one would find them, he'd said. He couldn't imagine any people who would be interested in those...things would ever look for them in a little town like this. They would either go to Miskatonic, or maybe some other place. Why the small town library, which no one hardly ever uses?" Mrs. Oates gave a bitter laugh. "Those people, they don't think people in 'flyover country' can even read!"

 _There was something missing in this story,_ Clark thought. _She hasn't really told me why she asked me to come here, but she's about to._

"I'm so sorry to dump this onto you, Clark," Mrs. Oates dabbed at her eyes with her tissue. "I just couldn't keep this secret. I didn't know who else to tell."

"What do you mean?"

"The break-in we had at the library. I told you no money was taken. But the books were."

Mrs. Oates had an old-fashioned VCR player by her equally old-fashioned big console TV. The kind Ma and Pa once had, Clark noticed. Next to it was a VHS tape.

"We have a surveillance camera system put in back around 2003, nothing fancy. We couldn't afford anything more with our budget. Most of it is just focused on the exits and the parking lot. But I added a little extra camera in the basement, paid for it myself to record in the dark. I took every precaution, Clark, believe me."

She turned on the equipment and put in the VHS.

"I know it's not the best picture, but I think you'll see…"

Her voice drifted off.

The picture that came up was grainy and black and white, the typical surveillance type video, with a date and timestamp, and no sound. For a minute he saw nothing, no movement. The picture was shot of a basement, and focused on a locked cabinet against a wall.

"I don't see-"

"Wait, Clark. You'll see."

Then, motion. At first it was just a dark shape, moving into picture, but the video blurred, then clarified a bit as it stepped closer to the camera.

The shape was unmistakable. The cowl, the cape. It crossed the basement, to the cabinet, whatever it did was out of the view of the camera, then it moved away. The cabinet looked the same as before. Only a few minutes had elapsed.

For a long while, Clark said nothing, too stunned to even think. Mrs. Oates sat on the sofa, shifting uncomfortably.

"The locker was closed, but I knew it had been tampered with, and when I opened it. I…don't know what it means, or why you're-you're _colleague_ would want such things, or go about it in this manner," she finally said, with a tinge of regret. "He's certainly a strange person, from what I've read in the news. You must know him better, I'm sure."

 _I thought I did._

"What...how many books did he take? What were they?" Clark's voice was hoarse.

She handed him a folded slip of notebook paper. "A dozen in all. You'll see that the names of the book are quite...strange. I don't know what they mean, myself, but Doc Potter stated they were all dangerous. I never dared to open them myself to find out. I did a little Internet research, just enough to verify what he told me. What I learned...I really didn't want to know more. I suppose they're valuable to somebody. The type of people that would want...I'm sure it's not the desirable kind."

Clark carefully held the piece of paper as if it contained a sliver of Kryptonite. He thought about looking at it then, and decided not to. He put it in the breast pocket of his shirt.

"And Clark…if you do get the books back…just burn them. Please. I tried to convince Doc Potter to do that, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. I should have done it myself, but…I guess I was scared."

"Why didn't you?"

"I was afraid…maybe they wouldn't burn. _Couldn't_."

 _A few minutes later..._

J'onn J'onzz and Plastic Man received the prearranged phone signal, and they returned to the house, the latter still in his car-form. Just as they pulled up, they saw Clark and a somewhat frumpy older woman standing on the porch. J'onn saw Clark nod to her, and she smiling at him, although her smile was marked by a strange mix of sadness, relief, and regret.

"Thank you. Thank you for everything. You're a good man." J'onn heard Mrs. Oates say.

"It's I who should thank you. Take care, Mrs. Oates, please don't worry about anything. I'll take care of it."

When Clark got into the car, J'onn saw that Clark was okay, and yet, there was something in his face that made J'onn know that whatever had passed between them, it was indeed a grave matter. He didn't appear to want to explain what had transpired in the house or what 'it' was right then, so he drove away slowly and carefully.

As J'onn look into the rearview mirror, he saw the elderly lady still standing on her porch, still watching them drive away. She stood there, still as a statue, until they finally disappeared from sight over the crest of a hill.

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **[A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! I am planning to pick up the pace a bit in the next subsequent chapters, and we will see more of Joker/Harley and Deathstroke...and the AWOL Dr. Fenderbrake perhaps. As most of you DCEU fans may know, Bruce Wayne has an obsessive personality, and we will see where it will lead him, and Zatanna too. Also, I thought Justice League Dark was very good. Again, please review, if you can, and I hope you enjoyed the story! If you didn't enjoy it, well I for one greatly enjoyed taking away a few minutes of your life and the fact that you are now that much closer to the grave !) ]**


	15. Chapter 15 - What is Past is Present

**Chapter 15 – What is Past is Present**

"You may wish to disregard it because of its legendary nature. I wouldn't. In the case of the _Al Azif_ , it's best to take every precaution.

"All right," I said. "What's the legend?"

"Among certain bookmen, _The Necronomicon_ is sometimes known as _The Adder_. Because first it poisons, then it devours."

 **\- Fred Chappell, _The Adder_ (short story, 2000)**

 _Kansas, United States_

"Were you able to ascertain the nature of Mrs. Oates' problem?"

Clark didn't initially hear the Martian's question. He was still processing in his mind what he had seen on the surveillance videotape. Admittedly, the footage was poor, but the Batman's unique silhouette was unmistakable. Still, could it really have been him? Or could it have just been some burglar dressed like him? It had to be. He couldn't imagine why Bruce would break into Smallville's Public Library, and how would he even know what was there?

"Clark?"

"What?" He looked up, realized both J'onn and Plas were staring at him. "Oh, uh, yes, I mean, yes I did. No...it's nothing serious." Clark realized he didn't want to tell them what he saw, not just yet. He thought he should talk about it with Diana first.

"Really?" Plas sounded doubtful.

"Really. Um, I'd rather not go into the details just yet, but I've got it. I'd, um, prefer if you all didn't mention our trip today, to anyone."

"As you wish," J'onn replied, before Plastic Man could say anything. "Then we'll return to the Hall of Justice."

For the next several hours, until his shift was over, Clark tried to distract himself with League work; fortunately, it was a quiet day, and Batman wasn't there, thank Rao. He would have noticed for certain his uneasiness. He did a few online Q&A, reassuring people that Superman would "be back soon," until finally he could go home. He was sure the others had noticed his unusual behavior, but no one said anything.

Diana was home, and for once he was in time for dinner. She'd made a pot roast, with steamed vegetables, fresh-baked bread and mashed sweet potatoes. He'd noticed she made a dessert too, a rich bread pudding (one of Ma's recipes again). Their small cottage smelled of goodness and normality.

She smiled at him warmly, and didn't ask any questions about his day, until after Jon had been fed, washed and put to bed. They sat outside on the tiny patio, with a pair of jelly jars filled with ice-cold lemonade. It was a warm, cloudless night, and the stars were profuse and glittering. Clark almost thought he could see the Watchtower as it orbited the Earth.

Clark knew what was coming next. "I hope nothing is wrong back home?" Diana asked.

"No, nothing…Mrs. Oates is fine."

"Your brow was troubled from the moment you stepped through the front door," she said. "Something about what she told you, then?"

Clark took a deep breath, then told Diana everything that had happened, his meeting with Mrs. Oates, her revelation, and what had been stolen from the Smallville Public Library. Diana listened silently, although her expression grew progressively uneasy.

"Have you confronted Bruce about this?"

Clark shook his head. "Not yet. He wasn't with the League today. But, would he actually do something like this?"

"The books that this woman said he took, what were they?"

Clark took the sheet of paper Mrs. Oates had given him from his pocket and handed it to Diana. She scanned it quickly, frowning.

"I have never heard of any of these, but they sound ill-omened."

"They're books of black magic, or something like that. Mrs. Oates had them for safekeeping ever since Doc Potter died. She had all kinds of security in that basement: night-vision cameras, silent alarms. Bruce would have disabled anything like that in a heartbeat, so I can't believe it could have been him."

"Who else could it have been? Who would dress up like him to steal such things?"

"You don't think it was him?"

"I pray to the gods it isn't."

In the faint outside light Diana looked worried, but he thought he saw something else, something that suggested doubt.

"But?"

"Perhaps," Diana said slowly. "Perhaps Bruce has a reason for taking them."

"What do you mean?"

She looked down at her jar. "You…haven't been at the League much. You haven't seen Bruce lately."

"I don't get you."

"He's been focused on the A.R.G.U.S. matter-"

"Well, I'm not surprised! They did try to kill all of us!"

"No, that's not what I mean. I mean…he's been different."

Clark laughed, a little. "Yes, you've told me! Dating, of all things…"

His laugh died away, as he saw the look in Diana's eyes. "What is it?"

She looked away. "It's nothing."

Clark stared at her, realized what he had just said. "You don't think…"

Diana shook her head, but he pressed her. "C'mon, I know Zatanna is a little different but just because she's dating him, like you said…I know you don't like her-"

"What?" Diana shook her head. "No, it's not like that. I don't dislike Zatanna. I mean," She seemed to search for the words.

"But?"

She shrugged helplessly. "She has…certain powers. Among my people, such women…it's just a prejudice, I know its wrong, but it doesn't mean anything. It's just that…all this seemed to start when she got involved with the League."

Clark couldn't believe what Diana was suggesting. "I can't believe Zatanna put him up to it, if that's what you're thinking!"

"No," Diana insisted. "I just…oh, never mind. I don't think Bruce could do anything like that."

She still looked disturbed. Clark reached over and gently squeezed her hand. "I'm sure he didn't. There's an explanation for this. I'll just have to find it. I'm good at finding out things like that, you know!"

Diana knew her man was trying to comfort her, but it didn't quell the uncertainty she felt. Clark simply didn't know - he hadn't seen how differently Bruce had been acting in the past few weeks. In fact, she wasn't sure if anyone else had noticed either. Ever since the failed Fenderbrake house raid. Everyone seemed to have forgotten it, especially since A.R.G.U.S. had remained quiet, but Diana didn't trust that particular sound of silence. Also, she had watched Bruce carefully since then. She thought he had seemed distracted, pensive even. Not even the news of the Joker's escape from Arkham Asylum seemed to change that, beyond his initial fury. Whenever she had seen him, he was engrossed in some private investigative work that he hadn't included his League colleagues in.

Nobody else in the League appeared to be bothered by it, if they noticed. Or they chalked it up to the rumors of his dating Zatanna (of course there wasn't anything like a proclamation but it wasn't exactly like a top-secret file). Only J'onn J'onzz may have shared her feelings, she suspected, but he had said nothing either.

Diana was worried for her friend, and hoped he wasn't getting in over his head with whatever research he was doing, his investigation into the evil that had dogged them ever since the Red House. Since they had left Smallville, they had managed to put that behind them. Even after Themyscira, and how Bruce had behaved then, she had moved on. Now, this thing with Mrs. Oates – it had dragged it all back into the light again. It raised questions that she felt she didn't want to think about, much less the answers. Especially now, with Clark still depowered, and Jon, and a baby on the way.

Clark was looking at her and she managed a smile for him.

"It will be all right, I am certain."

He nodded, reassuringly, returning her smile. He thought he knew what Diana was thinking, and he didn't want her to worry any more than she was, especially in her condition. She may think she was invulnerable, but Clark knew better.

 _Of course,_ he thought _, I can always ask Bruce what he's up to._

But would Bruce answer him, truthfully?

* * *

 _Batcave_

At roughly the same time Clark and Diana were sharing drinks under a calm night sky, Bruce Wayne was sitting still and silent in front of his array of thin holographic screens, his hands steepled under his chin. His cowl was pushed back from his head.

A panoply of images from all over Gotham City flickered before him, from the ghetto streets of Crime Alley to the pristine boulevards of the moneyed classes, all provided from many diverse surveillance devices he had either installed personally, or had hacked into. His search for the Joker was still coming up with zero, no hits.

Another time, he might have slammed a black-gloved fist onto his desk in frustration, but the Joker was, for once, not at the forefront of his obsessive mind. There was another screen, directly in front of him, and on it were displayed the Aklo letters: twisted and looped black characters against a white backdrop. A program he had devised to translate the letters into some kind of readable format was in progress.

He had lightly perused the _Necronomicon_ he had acquired from Lee Baldwin, but no more than that. One page had included the Aklo alphabet, which he had compared to the one in his copy of the _Ponape Scripture._ They matched almost completely, with only a few minor deviations. He had a complete, verified alphabet – with it he could use the book, if he wished, and other books.

However, Mr. Baldwin had been correct regarding his personal estimation of the tome. "I am afraid you will be disappointed in this edition, sir. As a grimoire, it follows that tradition of books in being mostly a collection of random essays, personal reflections of the translator – in this case, John Dee – mostly admonitions never to read the thing in the first place!"

Baldwin had actually laughed, a deep and rich, sound. Bruce was obliquely fascinated by it. "Even the most gullible person would find this book rather disappointing."

"What about the original? Could I still locate it?"

Baldwin shook his head. "As I said, there are rumors that the original was found in Afghanistan several years ago, but I have heard nothing more. It could just be "fake news," as they say. Even if it were real, you would have to have a knowledge of classical, literary Arabic to read it."

"If it exists, I will find it," Bruce had said, although why he did so then, to this man, he didn't know.

Baldwin had given him a look. "Perhaps a, ah, person like you will. I am aware of a small number of collectors, the type who have the means to collect these types of things. I don't have any personal dealings with them myself, they are what you'd call the 'unsavory' types, although I guess _you_ could deal with them."

Baldwin had written out a list of names and places for him, with a plea to not reveal his participation in the matter. He had taken it, checked it out, and then he…

"Amazing technology, even though I am usually not fond of such things. Often I have been accused of being a Luddite, myself, unfairly."

Bruce jerked in his chair, but only slightly, as if he received a minor electrical jolt. Yet the placed expression on his face did not change.

He turned his head, slowly, and saw Randolph Carter, leaning casually on the far edge of his console. For some very odd reason, he felt no surprise at seeing his distant cousin standing there, in his Batcave. He was dressed comfortably in a dark brown old-fashioned tweed suit. He looked much the same as the last time Bruce had seen him, standing on the shore of Themyscira, although he had shaved off his goatee, he'd noticed. He was looking with mild amusement all around the Batcave.

"What are you doing here?" Bruce rasped hoarsely, unable to hide irritation from his voice.

"I admit to a certain curiosity as to what you do with your life," Carter replied amicably, as if he'd come for a casual visit. "Titus and I often debated as to the quality of it, considering your various obsessions with crimefighting, and now-"

Bruce looked away. Perhaps if he didn't maintain visual contact, this would all be revealed for an illusion of some sort. "I hope your curiosity is satisfied. What else do you want?"

"I don't mean to pry into your life, Bruce," Randolph coughed delicately. "However-"

"Then don't."

"However," Carter continued undeterred. "I would be most negligent if I didn't at least urge, um, _caution_ with your present investigations."

His cousin pointed at the book before him. "An inferior copy I know, but I know where and from who you received it. There are things _hidden_ within its pages, making it very unique indeed. I could, ah, assist you if you'd like."

Bruce didn't demand how Carter knew that. He was aware how he could know all sorts of things, but it didn't matter.

"Don't waste your breath. I don't need help."

"I thought that might be your response, even Titus predicted as much," Carter sighed. "If you will not accept my help at the present moment, receive a warning at least."

"What?"

"Other than my friend, Etienne (whom I believe I told you of) I never associated by choice with the _homo magi,"_ Carter went on, in a studious tone. "They are typically a capricious lot, at best. Yes, they are very powerful, or were, I should say. The sole reason they are not in positions of political and economic power today is that they are too fond of infighting, also a great deal of inbreeding among their clans has sapped whatever vitality they still possessed by the twentieth century."

Bruce looked at him again. He was still there, solid and real, just as if Alfred had come down into the Batcave to offer refreshments.

"What are you telling me?" He demanded.

"Your relationship with Miss Zatanna Zatara," Carter said gently, although Bruce heard the warning behind it. "I would caution against it."

"Stay out of my personal life," Bruce grated. "Zatanna is nothing to do with you!"

"Oh, please believe I have no intention of interfering in your, ah, romantic life," Carter idly examined a ring on his index finger. It was a plain gold band. Bruce had never noticed this detail before. "I myself resisted all suggestions as to the impropriety of my own marriage, such as it was. We all must be allowed room for mistakes."

Carter looked at him, and Bruce suddenly felt as if his mind was being penetrated. "Sonia was no _homo magii_ , of course, just a flapper. We met at a dinner for amateur journalists, by the way. Anyway, I am aware of how you and Miss Zatara met. No doubt she is a valuable asset to your Justice League. By the way, I also came to warn you – there are persons who are preparing to strike those closest to you, very soon. You already know one of them, in fact."

"Why are you talking about Zatanna?"

Carter looked at his ring again, turning it on his finger. "Who made the first, ah, amorous advances?"

Bruce gritted his teeth, clenched his fists. He suddenly desired to punch Carter on his cleanshaven jaw, but he felt unable to move.

"Ah," Carter replied, even more quietly. "I see. Of course."

"You know nothing about her!" Bruce snapped, but his mind went back to that night after her performance at the Dante Club. What he had done then, could it have been possible he had been influenced somehow...?

Carter nodded as if he had read Bruce's mind - perhaps he had.

"At the end of the day, Bruce, a witch is still a _witch_. Be careful that you do not fall victim to her seductions. To a _homo magii_ like her, sex is just another weapon in their arsenal."

"She is not my enemy," Bruce replied but he was not sure who he answering.

"Perhaps not," Carter said. "But the _homo magii_ have their own agenda, and especially a sorceress of the Zatara Clan...Etienne once told me their history. Sadly, I do not recall it at the moment. However, be assured it is no coincidence your paths have crossed. I am afraid it may be too-"

"Go away," Bruce hissed. "You're not real, you can't be here!"

"As you wish. But you do have enemies, don't you dear cousin? Even now they are plotting against you, and they will strike soon, I fear. I will help you the best I can."

"Get out!"

 _Bruce, remember!_

Bruce jolted awake, his eyes snapping wide open, his hands gripping the armrests of his large executive leather chair. He was bathed in the glow of his screens, and his head swiveled around, but there was no one else in the Batcave with him. He leaned forward, his finger stabbing at the screen to bring up the interior surveillance readings. He was alone, had been alone in the cave since he had entered over four hours ago.

He slumped back in his chair, rubbing his face. Just a dream, if a vivid one. But Randolph Carter's voice rang in his ears still, everything he said, he could hear as if on a repeat.

 _I won't listen to him,_ Bruce thought. _All a dream._

But he knew what Carter was. Just because a dream...didn't mean it could not be real. So why had he come, and why now? Why was he against Zatanna? It was absurd. She wasn't some malevolent femme fatale seductress with an agenda. He pushed it out of his head. He would force it out.

But Carter's other warning resonated in his head still. Someone he knew preparing to strike at him, those 'closest' to him? Who? Fenderbrake? The Joker?

Bruce stood up. He would go out tonight, but not for long. He still had the books to peruse. He would make use of them, somehow. If enemies were at the gate, he would be ready for them.

 _I'll fight them with their own weapons,_ he thought, and if what Carter said, if he was truly sincere about helping him...if their enemies were plotting even now...

He thought he might hear from Carter again.

 _to be continued..._

* * *

 **A/N: A short chapter to push the story along, for those of you wondering which of those enemies is going to strike first, then keep on reading! We'll find out a little more about that in the next chapter! Is Carter right in warning Bruce about Zatanna? What are his motives? BTW, loved the WW trailer, can't wait to see it! Thanks for reading and keep up with the reviewing, it's like oxygen!**


	16. Chapter 16 - Investigations

**[All characters - or almost all - property of DC!]**

 **Chapter 16 - Investigations**

 _Gotham City_

Batman grabbed his grappling line, leapt and swung to his right rapidly, a split second before a hail of bullets slammed into the wall directly behind him, sending chunks of concrete whizzing past his head. He somersaulted in the air and landed nimbly on his feet on the pavement, and batarangs went hurtling towards the masked men who just opened fire on him.

 _A foolish mistake_ , he thought. _They'll learn now._

His tools found their targets and the men collapsed, howling with pain, their guns dropping from their bloody hands. Their screams only added to the cacophony of chaotic sounds filling the Gotham night air: the wail of police sirens, screams of panic, tires screeching, and above it all the unmistakable noise that was the pounding recoil of automatic weapons. Other gangbangers were running amok in the streets, firing indiscriminately, thoughtless if they hit civilians if only a lucky shot could fell the infamous Batman. He didn't need to hear the police transmissions reporting that the 'incident' was spiraling out of control to know it was. Way out.

Batman thought that the 'incident' had escalated rather quickly, all things considered. It had started as a quiet night in Gotham or as quiet as Gotham ever got. Tonight he had gone out to investigate lurid claims that an underground dog-fighting ring was using humans as bait – and food for their animals - in their perverted illegal sport. He hated all crimes but this one was particularly egregious.

He'd located the ring easily enough, with only a little persuasion on some of Gotham's typical night-dwellers. The underground club was in one of the city's numerous 'economically depressed' areas - the rank smells of blood and shit were a giveaway. He'd found no victims but plenty of skeletal remains, which sickened him. Human depravity had no bounds, he thought.

Yet the only one thing that had surprised him was the level of resistance he encountered - no sooner had the perpetrators realized that it was the Batman they immediately opened up with everything they had. Perhaps not so unsurprising given that they must know what he would do to them.

The caliber of weaponry was also unusual: the gang was equipped not only with pistols and full automatic rifles but rocket-propelled grenades and launchers. Batman correctly deduced stolen military but he intuited something more going on than a mere dog-fighting ring – but he had to capture one of the criminals alive to find out more.

That could take some doing, he thought grimly. The criminals had released their dangerous dogs into the streets and then rushed out after them, apparently intent on creating as much chaos as possible to cover their getaway. They showed no compunction about civilian casualties caused by their reckless actions. Batman wasn't certain how many of the gang there were, but they were numerous.

And he saw that they wore clown-masks.

Fortunately, backup had arrived, in the form of Commissioner Gordon's men. But the situation was still precarious. The police were pinned down by gunfire, and the snarling dogs. They were outnumbered by the thugs. He had to get this under control _now_.

Batman ran down the street – right now his priority was the safety of the innocent people caught up in the firefight.

"Get out of the way!"

He roared at a group of hapless tourists, who stood in the middle of the street gawping, frozen, and in the line of fire. To his dismay, he saw that there were a couple of kids with them. He ran towards them, at the same time seeing the masked madmen leveling their AK-47s towards them. He knew with a sickening certainty he wouldn't be able to stop them in time.

" _Dniwlrihw!"_

A sudden, powerful blast of wind picked up the gunmen and sent them flying hundreds of feet, to crash through the windows of an all-night convenience store. Bruce grabbed onto a lamppost, barely avoiding the same fate, his cape whipping about him. Then, there was someone beside him. He knew who it was before he even turned around.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Batman demanded, hissing through clenched teeth.

"Helping, I hope," Zatanna replied. She sounded excited, her focus on the trashed convenience store. She wasn't dressed in her stage costume, but in a now-familiar getup of tight-fitting black pants and white corset that revealed her shoulders to generous effect. "I got here as soon as I could!"

"No, why are you _here_?"

She gave him an annoyed look, matching his feelings. "I'm working, remember? You ought to know since you're the one who made the duty roster!"

"Not for rapid-reaction!" Batman retorted. "You're only supposed to do monitor duty!"

He had to interrupt his scolding, since out of the corner of his eye he saw another of the masked gangbangers aiming a shoulder-fired launcher in their direction.

"Watch it!" He shouted.

" _Ssim_ ," Zatanna intoned in a low-pitched voice, just as the man pulled the trigger.

The shell whizzed past them, so close that Bruce could smell the burning chemicals. Zatanna threw up her arms and a glowing blue shield of light immediately protected them, and the cowering tourists, from the flames and shrapnel of its explosion. He could see the tension in her arms and face, willing her magick force-field to stay intact.

"Who are these people?" She managed to gasp.

Before he could reply, more shooters tumbled out of cars. Cops were trying to block them from escaping. From the gangbangers' frantic, jerking movements and their crazed laughter, Bruce knew they were on some kind of amphetamines. They sprayed bullets randomly; a policeman was hit in the leg and torso. He collapsed, motionless. He saw from Zatanna's face that she was upset and angry.

Batman saw her eyes glow a lambent white as magickal power surged through her body. He felt it in the air too, feeling the hairs on his arms rising inside his suit, and although it was a warm night in Gotham, he could suddenly see his breath. He couldn't help but watch her, spellbound…and at the same time, a strong sense of disquiet grew in him. He didn't really know her true level of power…did she even know herself? What was she capable of?

Unbidden, a recollection from his latest vivid, unwelcome dream came back to him. A familiar voice, whispering: _A witch…_

He pushed it out of his mind, along with his other thoughts just then. _This is just Zatanna, showing off_ , he told himself.

Zatanna rose up into the air, her black hair streaming behind her, the cold winds picking up and sending trash bins and newspapers flying. He could hear her intoning something but couldn't make out the words over the roar of the wind. Whatever it was, he saw the remainder of the shooters freeze where they stood, shocked by the display of magickal power they were witnessing. So did the befuddled tourists. A few turned and try to run but they didn't get very far.

" _Sniahc yb dnuob_!"

The gangsters tumbled and collapsed all down the street, their arms and legs pinioned by the iron manacles that had seemingly come out of nowhere. Their comrades tried to aim and fire, but they dropped their guns, as if hit, although there was nothing visible that struck them. They yelped, falling to the ground writhing in pain as the preternatural bonds cocooned them, ironically crying out to the police for help. Their wish was immediately granted: more police cars careened around the corner and surrounded them.

It was over.

The magick spectacle was over as well, the light and the wind vanished as if it were never there in the first place. Zatanna sank down to her knees, looking like she'd just finished a marathon, exhausted but looking exhilarated.

Bruce turned to the tourists but it was clear they had had enough, likely both of the street violence and the supernatural display - which they found most disconcerting he couldn't say.

"That ain't right!" One of them bleated fearfully. "She ain't normal! It's...it's Satanic!"

They backed away, still looking horrified, and ran past the ambulances that were also arriving in droves, presumably straight back to their hotel rooms. He allowed a smirk to touch his lips, then gave the rubes no more thought and turned to Zatanna.

"Are you all right?"

"Of course," Zatanna breathed. "Just catching my breath. What an adrenaline rush! Do you feel that too?"

Bruce ignored her question. "You shouldn't be here." He told her again.

"Why not?" She replied, frowning. "Am I a member of the Justice League or not?"

"This is Gotham, it has nothing to do with the League."

"Well, I heard your reports from the Monitor Womb, just like everyone else did! What was I supposed to do, just hang out and do nothing?"

"Go home," Batman ordered. "There's nothing more for you to do here."

Zatanna rolled her eyes and walked over to inspect one of the unconscious goons lying in the parking lot front of the convenience store. He gritted his teeth, but he could do nothing else but follow her.

"Is it the Joker gang?" Zatanna whispered, staring down at him.

Bruce removed the clown-mask and examined the face, that of a youngish man with the marks of drug addiction on his pockmarked features. He didn't recognize the person, but it was clearly not one of the Joker's inner-circle, or even his outer one. He knew the Joker's men had stopped wearing clown masks some time ago; they would change their look depending on the whims of their boss, which were frequent and bizarre.

"I doubt it. More likely a copycat outfit."

"Some copycats!" The Flash exclaimed, startling them both with his sudden appearance between them. "Automatic rifles, grenades, rocket launchers, what the hell? Were they trying to start a war?"

"You missed all the action!" Zatanna scolded playfully. "Some Speedster you are!"

"Hey, I got here as soon as I could," Flash protested. "You see, I had another-"

"Get out of here, both of you!" Batman snapped. "I'll deal with this!"

Without waiting for a reply, he turned his back on the pair, and walked away as Commissioner Gordon's car pulled up to the scene.

"What's up with him?" Barry wondered.

"He's just being his usual Bat-self," Zatanna grumbled. But she didn't quite feel so nonchalant: she knew he had become distant this past week, preoccupied with what he hadn't deigned to tell her, and she doubted he shared his confidences with anyone else in the League. She herself had been busy with a couple of new publicity projects (including a somewhat racy photoshoot) so she hadn't had the time even to talk to him. But it irked her, nevertheless, that he hadn't spoken with her. What was up with him?

 _You know what it is._

"Well, guess the party's over," Flash shrugged. "Guess we'd better get out of here too, before the press comes, anyway!"

He looked at her. "But this might be a great photo opportunity for you! Zatanna the magician, helping to fight crime in Gotham!"

Zatanna grinned. "I've thought of that…but I don't think he would like it. You know how he is!"

"Don't I!" Flash laughed. "Well, I'll see you later." In a crackle of lightning he was gone.

Zatanna sighed. She was alone now, and she didn't see where Bruce had gotten off to, probably talking to the police bigwigs or something. Probably best for her to disappear like Barry said, before the police wanted to talk to _her_. Time to go home.

" _Nruter ot tsercwodahS_."

Commissioner Gordon was pleased that the dog-fighting ring had been stopped, although not so much with the chaos on his streets. Fortunately no one had been seriously injured despite the gunfire, and the young policeman who had been shot would make a full recovery, he'd been told.

"I heard that something, well, unusual, happened during all the ruckus," he said to Batman. "Light shows, tornados, and flying things knocking our criminal friends on their asses." The way he said it was a question.

"A member of the League intervened," Bruce muttered. "It won't happen again."

Bruce hoped he would drop it but nothing got past the Commissioner. "One of my men said it was the magician lady, that Ms. Zatara. So, you managed to get her to work for you after all?"

Bruce remembered that Gordon knew about Zatanna; he had told him that story of the thieves who had tried to intimidate her at her own home. That hadn't been very smart of them.

"Not for me, exactly," He replied evasively. He didn't want to reveal how much Zatanna was involved, and even less how he'd become personally involved with her. He considered Gordon a friend, but even so...

"She works...she is a volunteer with the Justice League, as I said. She got a little…overenthusiastic."

Gordon looked at him sideways, as if not quite believing his semi-truth, but he only replied, "Well, whatever arrangement you two have worked out, it seems to have helped stop this gang," Gordon shrugged, and fortunately he changed the subject. "Anyway, there was something else I believed that you wanted to talk to me about."

Batman nodded, relieved. "Yes, there is. I need access to certain files."

"Really? I thought you could get that with your, um, considerable computer hacking abilities."

"Perhaps, but I don't want to waste time, and I don't think these were ever digitized," Bruce replied impatiently. "I'd much prefer your cooperation in this matter."

"May I ask what it is about?" Gordon unwrapped another toffee and popped it into his mouth, his current cure for his smoking habit.

"The Joker," he replied bluntly. "I know who he is."

Gordon's toffee, wrapper and all, dropped from his hand and mouth to the asphalt ground.

 _Shadowcrest_

Home was Zatanna's strongest and best sanctuary, a magickal fortress that no person could breach; there were safeguards over every inch of its edifice. No one could enter without her permission and knowledge. Others had tested it and wished they had not. Therefore, it was rather annoying to have unexpected visitors.

Tonight, though, when she arrived home there was nothing was amiss. She lived alone, save for her animal companions (she did not call them her 'familiars'). They were always happy to see her. After that toss-up in Gotham City, she thought she'd take a relaxing bath first. Dinner was already ready but she decided eat later, when she was refreshed.

Zatanna went straight to her luxuriously appointed bathroom, full of light and gold and white marble. She stripped off her dusty onyx pants and top, pulled off her boots and underclothes, and sank naked into the sunken bath. Sizzling bath bombs were deployed; the warm water was scented with orange peel and mint. It felt wonderfully relaxing. Her body was still thrumming from the adrenalin from the action, not an entirely unpleasant feeling in itself. Even better was the feeling that she had done something to help stop some of the crime in Gotham. It might be a drop in the bucket in that place, but it had to be something. She felt her father would be approving, although she also sensed he would hate how she put herself in danger. However, he'd always been somewhat overprotective when it came to his only child and daughter - he was an Italian father after all.

The memory of that day at the orphanage came to her then. Her father's face when he told her about Bruce...how could he have known? And what he had said...

 _It was nothing_ , she told herself firmly. _Most of what he saw in his visions came to nothing, anyway._

She scooped up the sudsy water and gently splashed her face. She felt very confident, despite a few moments back there when she thought that the gangbangers may have had the upper hand. For a long time, she had been unsure of whether she could really control the powers bequeathed to her by her father and their _homo magii_ ancestors. Yet this was what she really wanted to do, felt that she could do, maybe even very well, given the opportunity. She didn't think she would ever give up performing, she loved it too much, but surely she could find a balance. She knew other members of the Justice League had 'real' jobs, like the Flash, and even Superman. Her old fart of a boyfriend would just have to get used to her doing this job, and if he didn't like it he could just-

"So it's 'boyfriend' now, is he?"

"Fuselli!" Zatanna sputtered. "What the hell-!"

At the opposite end of the sizable bath was the nightmare imp, up to his chin in the water, enjoying the soak, a crown of foamy suds resting comically atop his head. He most certainly had not been there a second ago. He looked quite at his ease clearly not caring what she thought of his suddenly showing up in her bathtub. Zatanna wondered - not for the first time - how he kept getting past her magickal safeguards. But he was a supernatural creature, after all.

Fuselli said casually. "You know I can read minds. Yours, especially, it's so easy, the way you broadcast your thoughts."

Irritated, not least because he was right, Zatanna decided not to let the imp get to her.

"What's wrong with the bathtub in your house?" She demanded.

"Oh, nothing at all, but it's boring there. I thought I'd drop in and say hello."

Zatanna knew damn well that creatures such as Fuselli - and Fuselli in particular - never did anything out of sheer friendship, or just 'dropped in to say hello.' He never came to see her – willingly - unless it was to get something from her, or create some mischief, or both. He had a nagging and unpleasant habit of getting involved in her business. He also had the worst habit of showing up in the most awkward times and places, like now.

"Well now you've said hello," Zatanna abruptly stood up and climbed out of her bath. "What else do you want?"

"I saw you on tonight's news. Or, rather, I saw you live on the scene. Quite exciting. So now you're helping Batman take down the bad guys in Gotham?"

Zatanna spoke a word and a towel wrapped itself around her. "You…saw me in Gotham?"

"Don't worry, I stayed well away from the action," Fuselli assured her. "Don't look like that, I wasn't spying on you, I was coming to see you anyway. It was a spectacular show! You were quite amazing, I must admit."

"Well…it wasn't for the sake of publicity," Zatanna muttered, reluctant to accept praise from the nightmare imp. "That gang needed to be taken down, you know what they were up to?"

"I'm sure they were quite awful, yes," Fuselli agreed. "You performed a wonderful public service. Maybe the mayor of Gotham City will give you a medal. However, I really wanted to see you on another matter."

Zatanna sighed. The best way to get rid of him was just to hear him out, perhaps.

"Did Madame Xanadu send you? I told her that there was nothing wrong."

"You can't blame her for being worried – she's more attuned than you know, to the currents surrounding us."

"What are you talking about?"

"Can you really tell me you haven't noticed something off lately, about your latest boyfriend?"

She frowned. "Didn't I tell you to stay out of my personal life? Bruce Wayne is nothing to do with you, I've told you."

"Damn it, Zatanna, this isn't just a matter of your sex life!" Fuselli snapped, startling her with his vehemence. "This is about forces that endanger all of us, and I don't just mean the precious _homo magii._ Tell me, just tell me you don't suspect your boyfriend isn't mucking about with the forces of the Outer Darkness."

She stared at him. This wasn't like Fuselli. He seemed genuinely upset and also…she had been having worries of her own.

"What do you know?" She whispered.

"I…well, I don't know much," Fuselli admitted awkwardly. "But I still cannot enter that man's dreams. The force that is blocking me is stronger than ever, but I am still trying. But there is one thing I do know for certain."

Zatanna folded her arms. "What is that?"

Fuselli replied, quite quietly. "Bruce Wayne has acquired the _Necronomicon_."

For a heartbeat, which felt like to last years, Zatanna couldn't speak. She stared at the nightmare imp with disbelief.

"No…no, that's not possible. I would know if he was using something that powerful."

"Well...I don't believe he's used it, exactly. But that doesn't mean he won't try. Actually, it's a given he will, and we both know what happens to people who _try_."

Zatanna shook her head, in denial. "No, that's not. He won't, he _can't_ ," she insisted. "He…how would he even know how to read it…wait…"

Fuselli stared at her. "What is it?"

Zatanna's mind raced back to the time of the raid on Dr. Fenderbrake's house, when Bruce had spoken to that stupid doctor. In the weeks that had passed she hadn't heard him use _those_ words again, but….

"When…when we tried to apprehend that A.R.G.U.S. doctor," She said slowly. She sat down on a chair, her brow furrowed.

"What is it?"

"He…I heard Bruce speaking Aklo."

"What?" Fuselli was truly stunned, she could tell. She bit her lip, feeling a twinge of guilt. But she was under no obligation to tell him anything, after all. "What did he do, exactly?"

Zatanna explained about the raid. "What exactly did he say?" Fuselli demanded.

"I'm...not sure, but he challenged the doctor, somehow, just to show he knew where he was coming from."

"Nine fucking hells, Zatanna!" Fuselli sputtered, sending up a cloud of suds. "You knew that Wayne could…do you know what damage he can do?"

"But he _hasn't_ ," Zatanna insisted. "I would know. Something like that."

"You've spent every night over at Wayne Manor then?" Fuselli asked mockingly."Spending hours with him, doing what you do best?"

She glared at him. But it was true. She hadn't seen him in the past week but that was Bruce. She hadn't expected him to change, not even for her.

"No," she murmured. "I haven't seen him. I don't know what he's got up to. But how-how do you know this?"

Fuselli saw her genuinely upset. He continued in a calmer tone. "You know Madame Xanadu and Baron Winters have their own agents, seeking out the grimoires and tomes that could cause trouble in the wrong hands. Two days ago, they learned that a certain bookseller had been approached by a person almost certainly your Bat-friend. Wearing a costume with pointy ears. The bookseller had once had in his grimy little hands a copy of the _Necronomicon_."

" _Once_ had?"

"This bookseller provided the book to a third party before Winters' agents were able to get to it. It seems that somehow your boyfriend learned about this bookseller and essentially browbeat him into revealing to whom he sold it to."

"So then you don't know if he has it!" Zatanna said. "Why couldn't you find out from this guy who he sold it to? Then you would know for sure if-"

"Well, that's no longer an option," Fuselli replied darkly. "The bookseller subsequently decided to take a dive off a high bridge into Gotham Bay, and no, Winters' agents had nothing to do with it. Just part of the bad luck that accompanies civilians who meddle in things they shouldn't." He added.

"Bruce is not meddling," Zatanna insisted. "I can't believe that."

"Anyone who can use the Aklo words, will not hesitate to use them. You know that as well as I do. If you do not do anything, then I am afraid Xanadu and Baron Winters will. The stakes are too high." Fuselli added ominously.

Zatanna said nothing, her face clouded. Fuselli expected her to threaten him again, but her silence was something else, unexpected. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

"You...will do something?"

Zatanna finally nodded.

"What?"

She stood up, wordlessly walked to stand in front of a shelf where several unmarked, colorful vials rested. Fuselli watched her quizzically. She stared at them, thoughtfully. It was not often she used them, but they were always here...just in case.

It might now be a 'just-in-case' moment.

"I don't know." She finally said.

 _Batcave_

Following his meeting with Commissioner Gordon, Bruce returned to his sanctuary. He'd done enough for one night, it was now time to take stock of what he had learned.

As usual, Alfred met him in the vast chamber where he usually did his work, or 'brooded', according to the butler, and also believed by most of his closest associates.

"Welcome back, Master Bruce," Alfred greeted him as he typically did. "I trust your mission went well?"

"You didn't see it on TV?"

"Indeed I did. I thought I caught a glimpse of Miss Zatara also, though I might be mistaken, the footage was not exactly of the best quality. Gotham's news crews are not quite the caliber of those from Metropolis. I trust the young lady is well?"

"She's fine," Bruce grunted. He looked at the butler. "Is she upstairs?"

"No, she did not return here. I don't believe she has been here all day."

Bruce did not reply, and sat before his workstations. "I could ring her, if you'd like." Alfred suggested.

"No…I'm sure she wants to be alone."

"Very well," Alfred replied when it became clear Bruce was not about to say anything else. He thought about asking him exactly how he knew Zatanna wanted to be alone, but instead asked, "May I fetch your supper? It can be reheated."

"No, thank you. I'm going to work here for a few more hours."

Alfred nodded. A 'few more hours' could last the rest of the night, and into the morning hours, he knew from experience. He left Bruce alone as he wanted.

Bruce had been about to ask Alfred if he could call Zatanna, to make sure she had gotten home safely, but he realized how ridiculous that sounded. Alfred of course would tell him to simply call her himself - and he should. Yet, something made him unwilling to do so. Of course he knew that she could take care of herself - he had witnessed that adequately tonight. Still, he felt a longing to hear her voice. She had gotten inside of him in a way that the others hadn't, and at first the sensation had been quite new and exhilarating. Then, he had begun pulling back. He spent more time at Wayne HQ, more time on the streets. Zatanna apparently hadn't noticed, being busy herself with her work.

But it wasn't just work. After he had acquired the... _book_ , he realized he wasn't ready to share what he had learned with her, though of course her contribution could be inestimable. He wasn't ready to share it with anyone. He wasn't even quite sure exactly what he had learned. Also, he didn't believe she would quite approve of what he had done.

Then…there was the matter of the Joker.

He'd not been totally truthful with the Commissioner. He had said he didn't believe this was a Joker operation, and the Commissioner had agreed, but, somehow, he felt that this was a feint by the Joker, something to draw him out. The Joker must have known he'd not been busy in Gotham ever since…since his research started. Whatever the man was, he was also curious. He would want to know why Batman had not been as busy. Joker was still out there, somewhere, waiting. Now he would know Zatanna was involved with the Batman, and he was not exactly thrilled by that development.

But now, after what he had uncovered, he wasn't quite sure what to do next.

His mind drifted back to his confrontation with Mr. Baldwin at his office. When the man had told him he knew the identity of the Joker, his first reaction was disbelief. He had received hundreds, if not thousands of tips on the 'true' identity of the Joker, some from the GCPD, some from informants, some from the public, and every last one had been a bust. No one knew who he was.

But then Baldwin had handed him a file, a personnel file folder as might be found in any corporation's Human Resource department, including his. He had taken it, and opened it right there.

Within the slender folder, on top was a single page, a profile. He stared at the photograph therein, and he had felt...something. He couldn't explain it then, and now, sitting alone in the vastness of his Batcave, he still wasn't sure what it was.

"Who is this man?"

"Jack Napier. He was an employee here. Or, more accurately, he was an 'independent contractor'. I admit he wasn't the type we typically hire: he didn't have any academic degrees, but he was very well-educated, very intelligent. I imagine he was self-taught."

"How do you know?"

"We do a background check on all our employees, the standards for a drug-free workplace as ours is," Baldwin coughed delicately. "He didn't have a criminal record, or any unusual or 'sketchy' history for that matter, but he did have what you might call 'street smarts.' He had a way of finding things, tracking things down. He'd managed to recover certain items for us that were looted from the Iraq during the war. Some of those are on display at our various sister institutions, until the situation overseas is more stable. He had a certain, ah, ability to avoid problems."

Bruce stared hard at the photo, barely hearing Baldwin as he explained the organization's mission of recovering stolen antiquities looted in the recent wars. He was looking at the head shot of a dark-haired, shyly smiling young man, handsome in a way that would attract women with kind hearts. There was nothing unusual about this photo, but there was something about the set of the man's jaw, his cheekbones...yes, there was a similarity.

 _It could be...it could be possible._

"Does he have any family?" He'd asked.

Baldwin shook his head. "I know he was married."

Bruce started. "Married?" He repeated

"Yes. I think her name was Jeannie. I never met her. I'm not sure if there is any other family."

"What happened to him? I presume he is no longer working for you."

"I'm afraid he disappeared while he was overseas, looking for artifacts looted from the Afghan National Museum in the Northwest Frontier. We had warned him that it was more dangerous than Iraq, but he believed he would be all right. He was very confident, said he had traveled in India before. He kept in regular contact with us, until when we believed he crossed the Pakistani border, then for months, nothing. No ransom requests, no assassination videos, nothing like that. He was just gone. We did attempt to contact his wife, I mean, after he failed to return, to offer some support, but she was no longer at the address he'd provided in his employment file, and her phone was disconnected. There was a rumor that she had committed suicide, or at least that's what our HR people believed, but we were never certain. No one ever contacted us, after his disappearance."

"Did you ever meet him?"

"Of course. He seemed to be an ordinary young man, very passionate, certain of himself, very pleasant. Nothing that would suggest...except for his body language, the way he moved, walked," Baldwin frowned. "But when I saw him on the news - I mean, the Joker - when he took that TV crew hostage...I began to suspect."

Batman stared at him. "Why didn't you go to the police? That was years ago."

"I did!" Baldwin insisted. "I contacted the Gotham City police myself, as I didn't share my suspicions with anyone else. Unfortunately, no one took me seriously, even though I tried several times. I began to think that they were deliberately ignoring what I was telling them, and knowing what happens to some of your citizens who have tried to help the police...there was even one cop who made a rather racist slur towards me when I persisted."

Baldwin gave a helpless shrug. "I am sorry...I am not as brave as you. So I stopped trying. I guess I should have tried harder but...if I was wrong...I have heard what happens to people who crossed the Joker."

It seemed that Baldwin was telling him the truth, or at least he exhibited none of the tell-tale signs that he was deliberately lying or misleading him. As he had stood there in the man's bland office suite, holding the book and the folder, Bruce had suddenly felt an urge to be gone and alone with his acquisitions. He hardly remembered what he said next, only that Baldwin seemed to be relieved to have given him the information on Napier. He hardly seemed to mind losing the book that he had paid thousands of dollars for, and that told Bruce that money was likely very inconsequential to him. He had returned to the Batcave, and promptly secured both items in a temperature-controlled safe. He felt he wanted to be in a...proper state of mind when examining both items.

It hadn't occurred to Bruce until after he'd returned home that he hadn't asked Baldwin what this Napier had been searching _for_.

* * *

 **[A/N: Well, many apologies for the late delay in submitting chapters! Real life intervenes. Hope everyone enjoyed the new WW movie as much as I did! And the next chapter will be WW-centric. thanks for reading! and please review as always!]**


	17. Chapter 17 - The Pause

**Chapter 17 – The Pause**

Something awoke Diana.

Her eyes opened onto not-complete darkness. She saw at once that she was in her own bedroom, in the small, modest cottage that had been her and her family's home for several months now. She saw the red LED lights of the clock on the bedside table read 4:55AM: the liminal point between night and the dawn in this part of the world. It was quiet. She relaxed, but not totally, thinking: _what woke me?_

This time at least it wasn't one of the troubling dreams that had bothered her in the past, praise Hera. Those seemed to have subsided, for the time being. She knew Clark was home, but she saw right away he was not in their bed. Instead she saw Jon, who lay sleeping on his side in the middle of the bed, one of his toy-trucks clutched in his small arms. Lately he had taken to jumping into bed with them, and following Clark around like a puppy whenever he could lest he try to take off again. Diana had no doubt that would not happen. He had also gotten the notion that his Pa was a truck-driver, perhaps his childish reasoning why he was away for so long (maybe he had been watching those long-range trucker shows on TV). For now, he wanted to be a truck driver, 'just like Pa' much to Diana's bemusement.

However, she didn't know where he was now, and she frowned, wondering where he'd got off to; despite his promise not to up and leave again, he still had the irritating predilection to take off unannounced. Then, she heard the faint _clack-clack_ of a laptop keyboard, coming from the direction of the kitchen. She relaxed, fully this time. Only one cause of _that_ noise.

Diana lay in bed for a few moments more, feeling too comfortable to get up right away. She was aware that these moments of quiet peace were few and far between, and she wanted to take full advantage. (Part of her thought, how soft she had become!) Well, so be it. She watched her sleeping son, in the quiet of the bedroom. His breathing was regular and even, his face peaceful and innocent in a way only a child's could be.

She marveled: Jon was growing up so fast, though he was not yet three. He looked more and more like his father every day. He was never ill, and he seemed to be developing normally, stronger and more invulnerable than a human child only slightly now, but demonstrating potential. Soon, she thought, he would be ready to start his warrior training in earnest. Eagerly, she reviewed the regimen in her head: he would begin by learning how to move properly, how to fall without hurting himself, how to maximize every move so that he would be fast as well as strong. He would be trained in the use of her people's traditional weapons. He would also need to learn how to ride. It was unthinkable, to her mind, to not be able to ride a horse from an early age, as she had. It never occurred to her that anything otherwise could be possible.

Diana's hand drifted to her belly, feeling its gentle swelling. She smiled to herself, thinking of the coming new addition to their family. She had worried privately that Jon would be her and Clark's only one, and she was delighted and relieved to know she was fertile. Although she had told Clark she welcomed a boy or a girl, still she had made offerings to Hestia, Hera and to Athena and Mother Gaia, praying for a female child. If they answered her prayers (she assumed anyway she had at least a good 50-50 chance) she would train her to be a true Amazon, and teach her to face and overcome the hardships and challenges that existed in Man's World. And her brother would help her.

The _clacking_ continued without letup: Clark working nonstop in the early morning hours of course. How long he had been up? Ever since he'd come home he was writing, or blogging, engaged in his researches, almost obsessively so. It kept him busy, at least. Or, he kept busy by cleaning the house from top to bottom, cooking (in his own creative way) and taking care of the yard too. Or playing with Jon and watching him when she went to work. The ideal house-husband. Anything, Diana guessed, to avoid going to the Hall of Justice or to the Watchtower, unless he absolutely had to. He still had a hard time coping with his depleted powers, and hated feeling 'useless' despite everyone's encouragement.

She needed to talk to him: sighing, she reluctantly got out of bed, careful not to wake Jon. She kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair. He stirred, but didn't open his eyes. She watched him for a few more moments. Then, she headed to the kitchen.

Clark was sitting at the kitchen table, which he'd completely taken over, almost overloaded by bits of newspaper and books, his attention focused intently on whatever was on the laptop's screen (he'd sold his antique typewriter to pay some bills, rather than let Bruce take care them; some things would never change). He looked up apologetically as Diana entered.

"Diana? Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"No, no it's all right. I needed to get up anyway. How about I fix you some breakfast?"

"No, don't bother. I had a waffle already."

"That's not breakfast," Diana chided. He'd probably dug one out of the back of the freezer and ate it as was, frozen and all. "I'll make something for both of us, coffee, too."

Clark watched her, smiling to himself, as she bent over to get a pan from the kitchen cabinet. Even with 'bed-hair' and only wearing a silky top, which barely reached past her bottom (and underwear), she looked stunningly beautiful. He felt a stirring for her in familiar places, but right now he liked the smell of bacon and eggs.

"Why are you working so early?" The smell of fresh coffee and hot food began filling the cottage.

"Oh, just sending out a couple of emails," Clark replied, trying to sound casual. It was mostly true.

After completing his series of articles on the Bakken Camp, including his frustrated search for John Henry Irons, which had so far turned up nothing, everything had gone dark, and he was unable to find a promising lead on any of it: the cause of the explosion, the results of the company's own internal investigation, and the maddening failure of both state and federal agencies to follow up. Environmental groups had raised a ruckus (Clark had interviewed some of their leaders) and then just as frustratingly petered out as other disasters turned up in the news and peoples' attention turned elsewhere. It was like it had never happened.

He had tried to keep in touch with his fellow co-workers, Bill and Mark, and although they had recovered fully from the explosion, it seemed they only wanted to put the whole thing behind them. Their replies were brief, mostly about their new jobs, their plans to retire, but neither of them ever mentioned John Henry. Clark couldn't help if they had been warned by the company to keep their mouths shut. It just seemed to be a dead end. On his last email to them he had asked if they had remembered seeing that nightmare face just before the explosion.

Neither had replied.

Then, Lois had told him she wanted him on some other assignment, a fluff piece. He'd pleaded for more time, but Lois was being her usual implacable self. He didn't want to give up his investigation, but as Lois pointed out, the general public wasn't exactly rushing to read about unsolved mysteries in the middle of nowhere.

"Clark, there may have been some shenanigans going on," Lois had said in that voice of hers. "But there's nothing you can do about it now. Let the lawyers handle it."

But he wasn't willing to drop it, not quite yet. His instinct told him that there was still more to this story and it felt wrong to just let it drop. He wanted answers.

He knew Diana was waiting for him to say more. "I'm doing some work on a new story. Lois wants me to do a piece on some new hipster fad."

Diana eyed him sideways, stirring the eggs and adding a bit of milk as she fluffed them to make omelets. She could always tell when he wasn't telling the whole story, and she caught the frustrated tone in his voice.

"Did you email Bruce too?"

Diana knew the answer before he spoke, it was clear on his face. "He hasn't exactly been available," he grunted. "I think he's avoiding me."

"He's been avoiding everyone, even Zatanna I believe," Diana said, trying to sound nonchalant. "At least, that's what I hear." _Why are you putting this off?_

Clark glanced at her. "What else have you heard? You've been at the Watchtower more than I have."

Diana shrugged. "Some Gotham City business. Supposedly he's found the Joker's trail again."

"Really?"

"Unless it is...something else?"

He didn't answer right away. "I…don't know."

"But you are thinking…something?" Diana pressed.

"It just doesn't seem like Bruce to neglect even a little Justice League business, even if he was focused on whatever's happening in Gotham."

Diana sighed as she put down the breakfast plate in front of him, after clearing away some of the clutter on the kitchen table. They were both thinking the same thing.

"You could just confront him, and ask him why he took those books from Smallville."

"We don't know that for sure. I mean, maybe it wasn't him, it could have been someone dressed up like him, some kind of stunt." Clark sounded uncomfortable, something rather unlike him, Diana thought.

"Anything is possible," Diana said slowly. "But, I can tell you don't really believe that." _Neither do I,_ she thought.

"Who else would have known the books were there? Why would they go to all that trouble to break in and steal that and nothing else of value? Mrs. Oates had new computers down there in storage, waiting to be installed, they weren't touched, nothing else was taken, it couldn't have been just burglars."

"But why, then?"

Both of them fell silent, neither having an answer, nor liking the implications.

"Whatever he would do, it's always been to give us an advantage over the evil that confronts us," Diana said. "And yet...he is only a man. As clever and cunning as he is, he is not invulnerable. He could be putting himself at great risk. It's not like it's something he's never done before."

Clark was silent for a while. Diana went on. "He lost Fenderbrake, but he wants to get Waller, I know he does. Whatever he's doing, he thinks this will lead him to her."

"Could you do me a favor?" Clark asked suddenly. "Next time you're on duty?"

"Of course, husband."

"Can you...try to talk to Zatanna?"

Diana's face grew quiet. "Do you want me to ask her about the books? Bruce's occult research?"

"I want to know how much she knows, if anything, but I can't believe she wouldn't."

Diana shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "You want me to use the Lasso on her?"

"No, just see if she will talk to you. Besides I don't know if your Lasso would even work, on her."

"Do you think she put him up to it?" Diana's question was quite quiet.

"I hope not," Clark said gravely. "Zatanna never struck me like that, I mean...manipulative. I've always gotten along with her, so has everyone in the League..."

Diana didn't voice what her concerns. She didn't want to mention that she had noticed that Hawkman tended to put as much distance between himself and Zatanna whenever the two of them were at either site, and that his expression during those times was always grim and stone-faced. She didn't think that anyone else had even noticed it too, other than maybe Shayera, who sometimes looked exasperated with her fellow Thanagarian. Diana was puzzled as to the reason - had he and Zatanna had some argument? Or maybe he was jealous of her? That would be interesting if he was...but she doubted it. Yet everyone else was possibly puzzled also as to Bruce's mysterious relationship with Zatanna. But no one else thought it was...sinister.

"Clark, if you would just come to the Watchtower," she urged. "Or to the Hall of Justice. Everyone wants to see you. If you could just ask him yourself..."

"I will ask him," Clark reassured her. "I won't put it off."

Clark changed the subject, a habit that Diana occasionally found vastly irritating. "How's the baby? I don't think you've been sick once!"

Diana smiled in spite of her herself. She knew he was happy that she hadn't suffered the mood swings that had plagued her doing her first pregnancy, and so was she.

"No, not once, you are right. You know what? I think that means I am having a girl!"

"Hah! I wish I could tell you for sure," Clark said wistfully.

She reached across the table and grasped his hand, squeezing his large fingers. He squeezed back.

"I can feel the strength in your hand, you _are_ getting stronger. It's only a matter of time." With her other hand she rubbed at his forearm.

"Which I have plenty of," Clark grunted. "That reminds me, I need to go into town. I'll get the car washed and detailed today."

The mundane turn that their conversation took somehow seemed to lighten up the cottage, along with the dawning sunlight. "There's no rush. Why don't I come with you? We'll make it a day together. We can go into town and visit that new farmer's-and-crafts-market. I mean, when you're done with your work here."

"Only another hour, and I'll get ready."

Diana refilled her coffee cup and stepped outside the cottage as Clark turned his attention back to his computer. The sun was just poking up over the trees and she drank in the rays along with the sweet hot coffee. She could tell it was going to be a good day, no rainclouds in sight although the weatherman had forecast 40% chance of showers.

A buzzing sound made her look up. She saw one of those drones buzzing around down the street, just above the roofs of the houses there. It hovered in place, moving lazily back and force. Someone's toy, no doubt. She couldn't see any operator, maybe someone in their backyard.

The drone moved closer to her home, dipping slightly lower, as if to get a better look at her. Was some neighbor guy peeping at her? She scowled. If it got too close, someone was going to have to get a broom and pan to scoop up what was left of it. Then it abruptly rose and zipped away out of sight over the treeline, as if the operator had reconsidered that he didn't want to pay another thousands bucks for a new one.

Diana sighed. Their home was remote but not remote enough. Time to get dressed and get ready. She would put aside her worries for later.

* * *

 _Somewhere in the Transpecos_

Slade Wilson sat alone at a workbench in his personal command center; his handpicked mercenary crew, supplemented by a shadow-ops military team headed by General Strauch, busied themselves with their various duties. His underground facility, located in an uninhabited area of Texas, was as secure as they come. No one in a hundred miles knew they were there. Just as he wanted it.

He kept himself occupied by disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling his personal firearms. He never trusted anyone else to take care of the gear he used. No one else bothered him.

As he stripped and cleaned and oiled each part of his AR, his mind considered the physical transformation had had recently undergone; it had been amazing, a genuine Fountain of Youth. The problems that had plagued him for years, the high blood pressure, the arthritis, a distressing habit of forgetting familiar things, had disappeared instantly in the so-caleld Lazarus Pit. Of course he had been disoriented and a bit out-of-it upon recovery, but that had hardly lasted an hour. Once the dizziness and shock had worn off, it was just as the A.R.G.U.S. people had promised: a new beginning. Oh, he had been suspicious of course, who wouldn't be? Who would have even believed it? But in his time, he had seen incredible things, things that in his youth, his _old_ youth, he would never have dreamed possible. The appearance of the metahumans for once, the revelations that powerful aliens and demigods moved among them. So the offer had been made, and accepted. The price was negligible. There were no weird side affects, like you might see in some B-grade horror movie. He had done some small favors, gratuities in a way, for A.R.G.U.S., cleaned off the blood, and that was that. But what Waller had really wanted was him firmly on their side for the upcoming confrontation, and that was OK by him. There had been no problems.

His strength had multiplied tenfold, for certain. He wasn't bulletproof, exactly, but all his senses were better than they had ever been. He was a young man again, and this time he wouldn't waste his time with Micky Mouse assignments. He knew what he wanted.

Then, the dreams had begun.

They weren't dreams of his past: he'd always been free of the nightmares that plagued so many other combat veterans, and he was grateful for that, as he considered it a sign of weakness. He had never really dreamed very much anyway.

Now, they had come, and with incredible vividness, so real that when he woke up it took him a long time to reassure himself he was no longer dreaming.

They weren't nightmares, by any means, no Freddy Kruger stalking him in some nightmare house. No, more like the strangest, most bizarre vistas he'd ever seen, shapes and colors beyond describing, crazier than the most intense drug trip (not that he was the most avid imbiber of such). They moved and walked and slithered and crawled, and he watched them, convinced he was seeing some alien world that no one, no human certainly, had ever seen before, he was certain of that. All he could do was watch, and they were so entrancing that sometimes he wanted to stay in his dream. He thought, perhaps they could even talk, and what would they say if he could listen to them and understand?

It was crazy, and at times he had wanted to confront Waller and demand just what the hell was going, what was happening to wondered if Ras' Al-Ghul had been subject to those weird dreams as well, if that was what had made that man batshit-crazy (to pardon a pun) at the end. But Wilson didn't think he'd end up like that. He had it all under control. He had to focus on the upcoming task.

"Sir!"

One of his men called out to him, pulling him out of his meditative cleaning. "What is it, Campbell?"

"Look at this," the burly mercenary pointed at the 3-D projection he was manipulating. "We got a match, a real one, just a few minutes ago!" The excitement was palpable in his voice.

In a second Wilson was up and had joined the man at his projection, others coming to also look. The drone's camera was quite clear. A view downwards. A dark-haired woman standing on a porch, a cup of coffee in her hand. She glanced momentarily at the drone, but did not appear concerned, only perhaps slightly annoyed. She soon turned her attention away, sipping at her cup, then walked back into her house.

Wilson felt his heart-rate accelerate. It was _her,_ of course. Even without the facial recognition software, he would have recognized her face, he had studied her profile so thoroughly, for so many hours.

Still, he had to have it confirmed for certain. His lieutenant nodded, anticipating his question.

"A 97% visual match."

"Where?" Wilson's mouth felt dry.

"Pacific Northwest, not far from Mt. Rainier. Rural area. It's perfect. Looks like our meta human likes North America."

One of the others, one of Strauch's men, asked: "Is she alone?"

"I haven't put the site under our satellite bead yet. There is a car in the driveway. But if I had to guess, Superman is there too, and the kid."

All the men looked at Wilson, who remained staring intently at the screen, the frozen image of the woman from only a few seconds ago, which matched exactly the woman from the convenience store.

 _Finally_ , Slade thought. His chance to match his martial prowess against that of the Amazon, reputed to be the finest warrior on Earth. A chance to cross swords…and then…afterwards...

He licked his lips. They felt dry.

"Should we wait and conduct additional surveillance?"

Deathstroke turned to his men. "Suit up. We're moving out."

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **[A/N: This month's chapter! Hoping to tie all the storylines together very soon. Will Clark confront Bruce and Wonder Woman Zatanna? What is Zatanna planning to do? That will have to wait till next month. Thanks for favoriting and reading! Slowly but surely this story continues!]**


	18. Chapter 18 - Shades of the Past

**Chapter 18 – Shades of the Past**

 _Many Years Ago…somewhere in the American South…_

Midday broke hot and humid over the El Dorado Campgrounds ("Bikers and Campers Welcome!"), a scant 15 miles from the warm waters of the Gulf. It was a Monday, so most of the weekenders had departed, leaving the place half-empty. The other half that remained consisted nearly entirely of the members of Atomic Al's Circus & Carnival Show ("The Last of Its Kind!"), ensconced in their winter quarters following the touring season. Modern-day gypsies of a sort, they spent eight months out of the year touring throughout the United States before retiring to warmer climes.

They were an eclectic collection of men and women, some with families, most loners, all possessing a strange sort of attraction for the old circus life, the old life of tents and stages, which was all but a shade of the past, long eclipsed by movies, television and the Internet. Old-school trapeze artists, clowns, magicians, strongmen (and women) and even "freaks" (a most non-PC appellation) who played to smaller crowds and seedier venues with every passing year, feeling the whisper of the end closing in. Most were unwilling to let the life go, as hard as it was, a few peeling away every season, but somehow staying together…knowing that the world "out there" of 9-5 jobs or 12-hour shifts in a factory or welfare could never replace the nonconventional life they had.

A shiny gray late-model BMW pulled into the auto-parking lot, its make and model conspicuous among the battered old vehicles. It barely made a sound. From it stepped a man of indeterminate age, his dress just as incongruous as his car, an immaculate suit in the darker tones and totally not suited for the weather. Yet he looked cool as a cucumber. His collar-length brown hair was slicked neatly back from his forehead, and his beard trimmed short and neat along his jawline. He carried a walking stick, the pommel carved with the head of a basilisk.

The bearded man scrutinized the campground, seeing RVs in varying degrees of upkeep. Unchained dogs ran between them, as well as children, both with minimal supervision. Men and women lounged outside, stringing up clotheslines between vehicles, or just sat and talked, smoking, or imbibing beverages in paper bags.

He didn't waste any more time: he walked directly to one of the motor homes (one of the larger ones). The residents eyed the man suspiciously – he was clearly not a local, or anywhere within driving distance of local, and certainly not a member of their group. He ignored them.

There was a little black-haired girl outside of the RV, playing with a collection of toys and singing to herself. As his shadow fell over her, she stopped and looked up, surprised. For the first time, the man spoke.

"Is your father home?" His voice held the faintest hint of an accent.

After the slightest pause the girl nodded and stood up. She didn't recognize the man, but she was old enough to understand that he was one of _the people_. Also, one who might be quick to impatience. She climbed the steps and opened the door; he followed her inside.

The interior of the mobile was more spacious and comfortable than the visitor expected; it was not unlike the living room of any ordinary suburban middle-class American home, rather bland and unthreatening. That fact alone made his mouth curl slightly.

A man was seated on the sofa, engrossed in a newspaper. He was dressed casually casually in dark slacks and a white t-shirt one commonly called by the natives of this country a 'wife-beater.' Perhaps it was some sort of style of blending in. Still, if only his adoring 'fans' could see the elegant and dapper, suave magician now, the bearded man thought. A derisive snort escaped his lips.

The man looked up as he and the girl entered, and his eyes widened.

"Baron Winters!" He exclaimed. "So you came! I am very glad to see you. I am honored that you traveled all this way to see me."

"You called, I came," Baron Winters rumbled in his deep voice.

The little girl was waiting hesitantly in the entrance, shyly staring up at the bearded man and her father. "You may return to your play, my poppet," Zatara said gently. She turned and hurried back outside. The man glanced back at her briefly.

"I haven't seen the girl since she was a toddler. She's grown so much."

"Zatanna, yes, she is a good child," Zatara said distractedly. "She has much of her mother in her-"

"I am sorry to see you in this way, Giovanni," Baron Winters interrupted brusquely.

"In what 'way' do you mean?"

"I mean, in these…reduced circumstances. This…place, with these people. _Carnies_." Winters could not quite keep the disdain from his voice.

Zatara only laughed. "Yes, it is a far way from performing for the crowned heads of Europe, eh? But these people are no less deserving of the entertainments we can provide them. Why not?"

"If you want to call what you do 'entertaining,'" Winters grumbled. "But that' not what I mean. I wonder if you are taking into consideration the kind of company you are surrounding your daughter with? The influence they will have on her?"

Zatara's smile faded. "Yes. Of course I am considering that. That is why I asked you here. It is about Zatanna, not about Europe."

Winters frowned. He didn't really think he had come all this way to this steaming hellhole to talk about children.

"I came back because I thought you were going to return to the Cold Flame. You are returning to Europe, yes? You should bring Zatanna with you, then. She will be around a better company of people than drunks and criminals. It has been long enough, too long. You are needed back."

He shook his head forcefully. "No. I will not to return to Europe, nor to the life I led there. All that is over for me. But there is something else I must discuss with you."

Winters ignored him. "I don't understand you! You abandoned the organization you yourself created…"

"That is unfair," Zatara protested. "You know very well why I had to leave."

For a moment Zatara's face held a haunted look. Winters remembered – all too vividly – the circumstances that had led his friend to flee Spain with his daughter, then only a baby.

"Sindella was a beautiful woman, and brave," Winters said. "She would not want you to give up."

"I haven't given up," Zatara said sharply. "But I must consider the welfare of my daughter first. Her future."

"Your daughter will have no future, and you know that too, if you do nothing!" Winters said harshly. "You cannot escape your legacy, and neither can she. You are the only man who can unite the _homo magii_. You, the only one of us with the power, who vanquished the Thousand Young…"

"Do not mention that name in this home!" Zatara cried. "I told you I am done with that work. My daughter is my life's work now. Yet now…"

Winters stared at him, at the change that came over Zatara – he suddenly looked old and defeated, and broken. He had never seen him like this before, except perhaps when his wife had died. But that had been years ago. Winters knew Zatara to be one of the most formidable mages he had ever known, and he had lived a long time.

"What are you talking about? I have never seen you like this before. What has happened?"

Zatara gestured for him to take a seat, which he did reluctantly, not quite trusting in the comfort level of the motor home. Zatara could only start talking after taking a moment to gather himself.

"I will tell you the reason I asked you to come. Please listen: several months ago I performed in Gotham City for an orphanage."

Winters frowned. "Performing for the children?"

"Yes. Afterwards, I had one of my…visions."

Winters leaned back in his chair impatiently. "Giovanni, you know your visions are entirely unreliable. Do you not recall the time when you bet-"

"Would that you were 100% correct, old friend. Yes, most of them are false but not all. I have only had a few minor revelations, concerning trivial matters. Yet, I have never had a vision so strong or so disturbing as this one."

"Explain!"

Zatara did so, and as he did Baron Winters' expression grew graver, and his grip about his cane tightened, but he held his tongue until Zatara was finished. When he was done, the Italian magician had slumped down in his recliner, looking grey and drawn.

"You are…certain of the validity of this terrible vision?" Winters asked.

"I…cannot say for sure. Only that it has struck me as nothing has ever had before, so strong and vivid and terrible. The future it revealed…my poor daughter…!"

Zatara abruptly stood up and strode past a startled Winters, he stared out the window; Zatanna was playing with some of the kids in the park, children of the 'carnies' they traveled with. Their childish shrieks reached their ears. Such an ordinary, peaceful scene; they had been few and far between enough in his life. He clenched his fists.

"What will you do now, Giovanni?"

"Truly…I do not know. I remember Xanadu once saying that to try to change our fates is an exercise in futility, that our efforts only help the outcome."

Zatara kept his attention on his daughter, who was oblivious of his intense attention. "I have done all I can. I have done enough. Now, all I can do is try to keep Zatanna safe. Eventually, when this circus closes, we will move to San Francisco and establish our house there. All I can hope for is to live in peace and quiet, as best I can."

"Do you think you can hide her there?" Winters remonstrated. "You should know better than that!"

He stood up. "Let's say for the moment that what you saw is real. If your daughter is vulnerable, if she is weak, then she will not survive what is to come. The forces we battled will not stay dormant for long, as long as there are madmen to be manipulated, and they are not strangers to this shore either. As for the Old Ones…well, we know it will only take the merest slip from us for them to break through. They will ever look for allies."

"They can do that well enough without our help, I have learned that."

Winters followed Zatara's gaze, stared at Zatanna. "What will you do about the boy?"

"Do? I will do nothing. He is yet a child."

"If your vision is true, perhaps the best thing would be if this so-called _child_ dies, before such a fate befalls him."

Zatara stared at Winters with shock. "To do such a thing! I will never countenance that!"

"Then why did you call me?" Winters demanded bluntly. "You refuse to return to the Cold Flame, your squander your talents here in this country, and now you run from this new horror. What exactly do you expect of me?"

"The Cold Flame still has its uses," Zatara said quietly. "And I do not intend for my daughter to suffer. I need you to do something for me, in the event when I am no more."

Winters' eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"

"Listen to me carefully, Baron," Zatara turned and retrieved a plain and decorated cmall box which rested next to the TV stand. Winters watched as he opened it and his eyes widened as the glow from within suffused the interior of the RV…

Zatanna laughed as she caught her friend Jolene in the tag game. Jolene was the same age as her, the daughter of the tattooed lady who performed in the same circus as her father. She had almost forgotten her father's visitor, until her friend pointed at her father's RV.

"What's that?"

"What?"

"That light."

Zatanna turned around and saw the glowing blue light that came through the thin curtains on the windows of their motor home. She knew instantly that the source was magickal, but she didn't know why it was burning with such a queer intensity, only that it had must have something to do with why the stranger had come to see her father. She was a curious girl, but knew instinctively that some things she couldn't always share with her friends.

"Oh, oh it's nothing. Just something to do with daddy."

"Oh," Jolene, like many of the other children of the carnies, and most of the carnies themselves, already suspected that the Zataras were a littler…different from the rest of them. "Is…everything ok?"

"Yeah, sure," Zatanna replied, although she wasn't _entirely_ sure. But one thing she was sure of, her father would not let her come to any harm. With a sure mind that only a child can have, she went back to her play with her friend, as the light dissipated as quickly as it had appeared.

Inside the motor home, Baron Winters picked up his cane and made to leave. Zatara watched him quietly, his agitation gone.

"Are you sure you will not reconsider?" Winters said. Zatara shook his head.

"It is too late for me, old friend. Protect my daughter, when I no longer can. Promise me."

"You know I will, Giovanni. I hope you know that, by then, it may be too late. For her, perhaps for all of us too."

He turned and exited the mobile home without another word or backward glance. The last time the two of them would meet.

* * *

 _Gotham City – Present day_

The annual Gotham City Mercy General Hospital Charity Ball was one of Gotham's most prestigious and elegant affairs, one of the highlights of Gotham's social season, when hundreds of its poshest residents gathered. It was held in the Diamond District, under the strictest security of course (situated in Gotham after all). Perhaps it was not totally lost on the attendees that its exclusivity kept out the very people it was purporting to help. Still, it was one of those quirks of Gotham that made the city what it was.

This event was not like the parties Zatanna was used to going to. For one thing, the dress code was quite formal, given that the attendees were limited to people who had donated a minimum of one million dollars to the charitable fund - for a minimum of five years. However, she could dress up for the occasion. She wore an elegant black dress by Hobeika, and white jewels flashed on her arms and around her throat.

For another, the music for the event was provided by the prestigious Gotham Symphony, and limited their repertoire strictly to the classics, pleasant but not too lively, as to send the mostly older guests into a tizzy. Zatanna would have preferred something livelier, but she had guessed – accurately as it turned out – that she was here as a supporting character and not the headliner.

She was only here because Bruce had brought her. Of course, he was attired in the fashionable billionaire-wear as he was accustomed too, he seemed to favor Hugo Boss, which fit him as casually and naturally as if he was wearing shorts and a t-shirt – not that she had ever seen him in something quite that downscale. All dark colors of course: it occurred to Zatanna that he rarely – if ever - wore anything in the lighter shades. To match his moods, no doubt.

However, tonight he was all smiles and pleasantries, full-on Bruce Wayne the Philanthropist Billionaire.

She hadn't really wanted to go to this but he had insisted, for some reason. He had almost made it sound like an order, a missive directly from the Watchtower.

"I go every year," he had said. "I'm expected."

"I'm not."

"Besides, I like to keep an eye on things," Bruce continued as if she hadn't said anything. "This is a very important public event in the city."

"Has anything ever happened?"

"Actually, no," Bruce admitted. "Nevertheless. I'd like you to come with me. No it's not for backup or anything like that," he added, seeing the look on her face. "I'd just like you to go with me."

"You've never asked me to one of your public events before," Zatanna said. "Why this one?"

"Why not?" Bruce frowned slightly. "It's about time we were seen together. Besides, I know we haven't spent very much time together anyway. I'd thought I'd change that."

He'd taken hold of her hand and smiled as he'd said that, so Zatanna hadn;t really put up a resistance; she did want to spend some time with him; it was true that lately he'd seemed distant and preoccupied with League business – and his regular business.

She watched him closely, thinking of her conversation with Fuselli. Tonight, Bruce seemed quite at his ease, convivial and witty with the other guests, well-behaved, only doing a little playboy-boor bit. He seemed to relish having her on his arm, showing off his trophy girlfriend of to his business partners and acquaintances (no friends – she didn't think he actually had any friends among this crowd). Nothing to indicate there was any 'problem.'

She found herself only mildly annoyed by his showoff – she found that she was amused by some of the other women here. No one was blatantly rude to her face, they were too well-heeled for that, but she knew better - she had had experience, you might say. She could tell that by the way they looked askance at her that they were a little put-off by her presence here tonight: partnered with Bruce Wayne, the scion of the esteemed Wayne Family, the CEO and owner of Wayne Enterprises, a multi-billion dollar operation. She saw more than a few ladies giving her the stink-eye. Good thing everyone metal detectors had been added at the entranceways! Bruce did not notice them or was pretending not to.

However, Zatanna knew him a tad better than his fellow billionaires. She saw the body language that signified his alertness, the way he watched and prepared as if ready to explode into action at any second. She could tell that he wanted to, too. Probably he was just as bored by this shindig as she was, although he never gave any outward display of it. He was waiting for something, she was certain of it, and she knew he was watching her too.

Zatanna did not know exactly what he was waiting for – a terrorist attack? An armed robbery? Something involving violence, very likely. Whatever he was waiting for, it most certainly wasn't the endless presentations by the Ball committee members, some of them droning on and on until gently escorted off stage by the music.

Zatanna knew that Bruce meant for her to be watching as carefully as he, although for what he never said clearly, despite his early statement that she wasn't 'backup'. She had the nasty feeling that she was being used as bait. In fact, she was positive. She found herself not so much bothered by that as by the fact that Bruce hadn't confided what he was up to.

"Zatanna!"

"Dr. Leslie!" Zatanna was happy to see her, remembering her from when the ladies club was at the Manor. The retired physician was the only person she knew in the place, other than Bruce. "I'm so happy to see you!" She meant it very much.

"You look lovely tonight…both of you," Dr. Leslie Thompkins added but Bruce was talking to someone else and hadn't noticed her.

"Thank you," Zatanna said. "I hope I don't look too out of place."

"Now who would say anything like that?" Leslie said. "You shouldn't pay attention to some of these people," she glanced at a group of statuesque blonde girls near the bar. "They've been trying to catch Bruce for _years,_ and now..."

Leslie looked at her. "I don't mean to presume, my dear."

"You aren't," Zatanna said. "Bruce and I are, um, we've been seeing each other. For several months now."

"Are you? Well that's wonderful!"

Zatanna grinned. She could tell the wily old doctor was an incorrigible gossip. Gossip was always helpful in the entertaining business.

Dr. Leslie continued to talk animatedly. "…I've always thought the best of Bruce, and I'm so happy he's found a young lady like you. The others…"

The elderly lady caught herself. "Well, I just mean that I think you are a good influence on him. I can just tell, my dear."

"Thank you," Zatanna was surprised. "I didn't think you'd think that highly of me."

"Why not?" It was Leslie's turn to be surprised. "Hey, I'm an old lady – I've seen a few things in my time. Bruce hasn't always made…good choices, I should say. He's headstrong…stubborn. But he's a good boy. I should know – I delivered him after all. He's had a difficult life – although it doesn't look like it," Leslie looked at Bruce, who was laughing with a group of men. "You know about his parents?"

Zatanna nodded.

"He's always had a difficult time coping. He went through a…difficult period in his times. If it wasn't for Alfred I don't know what might have happened. He never talks about it, although I recommended half a dozen therapists. I suppose that's why he acts the fool sometimes, but it's not in him to be cruel," Leslie went on. "I really don't know why I'm telling you this, you must think me such a chatterbox!"

"Not at all." Zatanna was listening to every word.

"Lots of people try to take advantage of him, especially women. That's why he avoids them, I think."

Zatanna felt moved. "I would never to anything to hurt Bruce," she said truthfully.

"I'm glad, dear, I didn't think you would, it's just that-"

"Dr. Leslie," Bruce said, finally joining them. The expression on his face made it clear he thought she was sharing too much TMI. "Good evening. I'm glad you could attend again this year."

"I wouldn't it miss it for the world," she replied jovially. "I'm so glad you brought Miss Zatara with you!" After a bit of small talk she looked between Zatanna and Bruce. "Please enjoy the rest of the evening!"

"What did she say?" Bruce demanded as she left.

"She thinks you and are a match made in Heaven," Zatanna replied sweetly.

"Did she," Bruce grumbled. "I suppose she thinks it's high time I settled down."

"And what do you think?" Zatanna looked up at him.

Bruce sighed, looking around the crowd. Well-dressed, manicured, pampered, every manner of food and drink readily available, while outside, hardly even two blocks away, poverty and crime reigned.

"I think it's time we left."

Alfred was waiting patiently for them, dressed impeccably in a chauffeur's uniform, as Bruce and Zatanna exited the venue, camera-flashes lighting their way down the steps.

"Master Bruce, Miss Zatanna: I trust everything is well?"

"Quite well, Alfred. We'll be going home now."

"Very good, sir." He held the door of the car open for the two of them.

Zatanna sighed as she settled into the backseat, Bruce sliding in next to her.

"Where to, Master Bruce?"

"Just back to the Manor," he replied. "Unless you want to stop anywhere?"

Zatanna shook her head. She was about to speak when Bruce's phone rang.

He took it out of his pocket and glanced at it for barely a second, then put it away again.

"What is it?" Zatanna asked.

"Just a text from Clark," Bruce muttered. "Nothing important."

"If it's from Superman, I can hardly think it isn't."

Bruce said nothing. Clearly there was something he didn't want to talk about. A silence fell in the car, the only noise that of the purring engine. She could see him settling back into himself, switching over into full brood mode. That was the last thing she wanted right now.

"When I was a little girl, traveling with the circus," she began. "Dad would drive our motor home. It was just an ordinary RV with a few…modifications. It would be our home for eight months out of the year. We got to visit so many places around the country! We stayed in so many states. One of my favorites was Florida, we weren't far from the beach, and Disney World."

"Sounds uncomfortable."

"Not at all. I loved traveling."

"Perhaps we will, together," Bruce suggested. "One of these days."

Zatanna looked at him. "You were expecting the Joker to attack tonight, weren't you?"

It was a moment before Bruce replied. "Yes. I thought he might try something tonight. I guess I was wrong."

"You sound disappointed."

"He should have made a move by now," Bruce muttered, deaf to Zatanna's mocking tone. "What is he waiting for?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps you should find out."

"I intend to."

"So you did intend me to be backup."

"I…no. No, I really wanted you to enjoy myself. But it looks like you didn't."

Zatanna shrugged. "Well, it wasn't entirely bad. We did spend some time together, didn't we? And we saw Dr. Leslie again. Plus it's good publicity: 'Celebrity magician with billionaire magnate.' It might trend for a few minutes online. I could see how furious your side exes were."

"They weren't my-" Bruce looked at her. "Why are you upset?"

"I'm not upset. I enjoyed myself. And I want to be a help to you. I don't want you to make any mistakes, not when I'm here."

Bruce looked away. "That won't happen. I won't make any mistakes."

Zatanna stared at him, but he had fallen back into silent brooding mode again. He stayed that way for the rest of the ride home, staring out his side window at the passing landscape. She sighed and kept busy with her own phone, scrolling to see if anyone was talking about them.

Alfred of course said nothing either, quietly driving them out into the countryside back to the Manor, the streets and suburbs dwindling to forest, and finally they pulled up at the huge Manor.

"Shall I prepare anything for either of you, Master Bruce, Miss Zatana?" Alfred said as he opened the door for them.

"No, don't stay up, Alfred," Bruce replied. "Call it a night."

Zatanna looked at Bruce, in her eyes an unspoken question.

"I'll join you later, Zee," Bruce said. "I'm not going on patrol, I…just want to check on some things."

Zatanna seemed to roll her eyes as she turned and walked into the Manor, towards her set of rooms. Bruce wondered if she was getting tired of him; he found that that distressed him more than he thought it would, but he should have expected that. She must consider him a lightweight, in her world, despite what he had. He had to do something for her...

Bruce noted that Alfred was still standing next to him. "Is there…something?"

"There was a delivery for you at the Manor," Alfred said in a quieter voice than usual. "I ran it through the usual protocols."

He tensed. "What is it?"

"I didn't open it. It was addressed directly to you, not to Wayne Enterprises, or any business address, but to here. The return address was from Boston. When I researched the exact location, it turned out to be non-existent, at least now."

Bruce stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"To be exact, the location is currently the site of a check-cashing operation, which it has been since 1994. Prior to that it was an empty lot for twenty years, and prior to that a garage since the 1940s. Prior to that, it was the location of the Boston Art Club."

A chill ran down Bruce's spine. For a moment, he thought about calling Zatanna back, but then changed his mind. "Where is it?"

"In the Batcave. I thought it best to leave it there for your perusal. There doesn't seem to be any danger with it itself, no explosive material or booby trap."

"I will go take care of it. Go on, go to bed." Bruce reassured him. "I'll be all right."

Alfred looked somewhat doubtful of that, but he departed, and Bruce headed inside, for the entrance to the cave.

Bruce found the package where Alfred had left it. It was rectangular in shape, about four feet by three feet, covered in thick brown canvas paper and tied with string, like an old-fashioned package, covered with the usual postage stamps. The addressed were written in thick block letters, nothing very usual. It lay resting against one of his workbenches, like a regular parcel.

Bruce stared at it for a moment, before approaching it. He thought he knew what it was. He took a folding knife from his pocket, and carefully cut the strings, and the paper. Then he sat back and examined it.

It was a painting, confirming his initial thought. He stared at the likeness of himself, almost forgetting to breath. It was quite lifelike, and well-executed, extremely well-executed. He was seated, as if posing for the artist, in a darkened room. It took him a moment to realize it was his own library, here. He saw the things that he recognized. The painter would have had to be in the library to see those things and paint them so accurately.

Bruce had never posed for a painting in his life. He was certain he never had an expression on his face like that. It was nothing that would startle an ordinary viewer, but…

His eyes darted to the right lower corner of the painting, saw the artist's initials there.

 _R.U.P._

With slightly shaking hands, Bruce picked up the painting, examined it more closely. The frame was ornate, dark sandalwood, or so he thought, he was not certain. He was certain he had never touched wood like this, the oily feel to it. He needed to understand why, there had to be something more here.

He turned it around, looked behind it, touching the thick cloth that bound the back. There was a slit, and instinctively he reached in, pulling and tearing at it, until it revealed the backing. There was something there.

Yes! A small envelope. Like the painting, it was addressed directly to him, in a spidery thin calligraphy he felt he had seen before.

Rarely did Bruce do anything without thinking beforehand, now he did: he opened it.

He read the first line: _To my dear cousin..._

* * *

 _Hours later…_

In the Manor, Zatanna lay on her bed, wide awake, staring in the dark up at the ceiling. She was alone.

She knew Bruce had not gone out on patrol; no, he had become distracted by something else, something strong enough to take his mind away from her.

Before, she had not really thought Bruce would be in any real danger, even though he had the books, even though he had a smattering of the Aklo. He didn't really know how to read them. Not unless he had help.

Zatanna clenched the bedsheets in her fists, willing the tears to stop. She had to do something else. She had to save Bruce, before he destroyed himself, and those around him who loved him.

Including her.

 _To be continued..._

 **[A/N: Sorry for another long delay! I hope now to at least turn out 1 chapter per month. Please read and review as always, and thanks very much for reading. BTW I really enjoyed the Batman Detective issues 959-962, which Bruce and Zatanna together again! Hope she shows up more in this Rebirth series]**


	19. Chapter 19 - Unexpected News

**Chapter 20 – Unexpected News**

 _A week later…_

"... _and in other news, a massive 6.7 earthquake has hit the southern coast of India. Witnesses report many buildings damaged and there are an unknown but likely high number of casualties. A tsunami warning has been issued for the State of Hawaii and Alaska. The Justice League has responded to the Indian government's request for aid and will be participating in the rescue effort along with the United States._

 _Next up on our station, the Lex Luthor Letter!_

 _Hello, I'm Lex Luthor! Are you a patriotic American who wants to know what is really going on? Do you want to hold our elected officials accountable? Do you want to learn the REAL reason for the absence of the so-called Superman? One thing I can tell you, my listeners, you are not being told the truth. You'll want to turn in to hear the latest not-fake-news, from a patriotic American. Now for a commercial break…"_

Diana turned the car radio off, although not quite fast enough to avoid hearing that man's cloying and condescending voice. The last thing she wanted was for her husband to become aggravated by that man's drivel. But Clark wasn't paying attention to the radio,his attention focused on driving their minivan.

It was just the two of them – Jon had been deposited with Martian Manhunter for the weekend. It was a most agreeable arrangement as Jon had come to think of the ancient Martian - having seen him in his true form – as some sort of dinosaur. Jon was always excited to see him. J'onzz would keep them busy running his endless tests, and it all only cost several cartons of Oreos.

Despite the tedium of traveling by automobile, Diana was happy, and eager for a weekend vacation. This was all courtesy of Bruce Wayne. They would be spending the weekend with him and Zatanna at some tony resort north of their home, where she was giving an exclusive one-night only performance. They had invited Clark and Diana to see the show, and spend the weekend there with them. An opportunity for a peaceful and enjoyable getaway while things were relatively quiet.

Clark and Diana were both surprised by the sudden invite; prior to this Clark's attempts to meet privately with Bruce had been rebuffed – although never directly and always with some excuse, but Clark knew when he was being put off. Then, this: Bruce had never invited either of them to one of his fancy vacation excursions. Diana knew it made her husband wonder, him who was not naturally a suspicious man.

Diana wasn't particularly concerned– it was some time since she and Clark had had time alone to themselves – didn't every couple need that every once in awhile? Those times would be few and far between, especially after the new baby arrived. She was looking forward to this, and she was hoping Clark would enjoy it too.

However, looking at his face she wondered. He looked quite serious at the moment – she could tell by the set of his jaw and his deep-set eyes. Even so, that look gave him a quite attractive appearance, even maybe a bit…Bat-like?

She raised her hand to the level of Clark's head, held out flat so it blocked half his face, and she curiously examined his profile.

"What are you doing?"

"You know, from the nose down…you could almost pass for Bruce, except for your chin. You better watch it, in case someone thinks you're a vigilante and tries to arrest you."

"I'd better stay far away from Gotham City then," Clark said. Diana couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"Oh Clark," Diana laughed. "We're going to have a good time! Don't you think?"

Clark just grunted and the expression on his face didn't exactly suggest agreement. "What's wrong?"

"I just wonder why Bruce would ask us to meet like this."

Diana shrugged. "Well, perhaps he likes this resort or whatever it is. It sounds like a fun place, and there's a spa there, too," she added. "Or maybe it's that Zatanna prefers it?"

Clark did not sound convinced. "We could have just have easily met on the Watchtower. Or the Hall of Justice, or anywhere else."

"At least for once he's not thinking of work," Diana suggested. "Besides, maybe he needs our help for something."

Her husband snorted. "Bruce wants something for sure, otherwise he wouldn't have even bothered. You know he has some motive for doing this!"

Diana sighed. When had her husband gotten so cynical? She worried that his investigative journalism work was taking a toll on him. He still had been unable to uncover the whereabouts of John Henry Irons, or learn anything else about the explosion at the work-camp.

She picked up the flyer that she'd printed before leaving, which included the directions to the resort. She unfolded it, looking at the colorful photos, mostly of well-dressed middle-aged people smiling and playing golf. Clark glanced at it momentarily.

"I'm sure we'll fit right in too."

Diana only laughed again, determined to counteract her husband's gloominess with levity. "You think we are, how you would say, like a couple of hayseeds crashing the party? That would be fun!"

"He does this deliberately, you know! Why couldn't he just meet us at our house or anywhere _normal_ …"

"He's a master tactician, so of course he would do so, and it's clearly working."

"What do you mean?"

Diana leaned back in her car seat. "He is trying to introduce you to new things, and it is making you so uncomfortable, I can tell."

"I am _not_ afraid of 'new things' and I am not uncomfortable, either!" Clark retorted, but Diana caught the hint of a grin on his face, although he tried to stifle it.

"Yes you are," Diana argued. "You are a creature of habit. That is not good for a warrior."

"Well I'm hardly that anymore."

Diana gently touched his bicep. "That is not true. You _are_ getting stronger, my love. I can feel it. It is only a matter of time before your powers are back, all of them. Didn't you tell me that your hearing is becoming more acute? We must start sparring again."

"In your condition?"

Diana squeezed his arm warningly. "Never underestimate what an Amazon can do, even when pregnant!"

She held up the flyer. "Anyway, we should practice some 'self-care' – remember that presentation Helena gave? I'm sure things will get hectic again, they always do. I wouldn't mind having a facial. So what else is bothering you?" Diana asked, when Clark remained quiet.

"You know what."

Clouds passed over the sun, throwing the highway and the minivan into shadow, and it seemed like inside vehicle's occupants as well.

"I still think there must be some explanation," Diana said in the quiet that followed. Unconsciously she had pitched her voice low as if someone could be listening. "Bruce isn't a thief."

"Except when he has to be. If he thinks that those…those books could help him, I think he would."

"But help him to do what?" Diana was puzzled.

"I'm not sure," Clark said slowly.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know." Clark admitted after a moment's thought. "I really don't know."

Diana thought Clark actually did know, but he clearly didn't want to say. The rest of the drive occurred in silence. The resort was only about a hundred miles away from their home, and about twenty from the interstate, so it didn't take them much longer to near their destination. The landscape changed as they approached, from trash-littered highway to luxury buildings rising out of a forest of green trees and manicured lawns, dazzling and welcoming, promising pleasant sights and relaxation. A billboard announced the Mistress of Magic's show.

"This isn't a casino is it?" Clark wondered. "I remember Ma and Pa would go to the Indian casino once in a while to play the slots and eat at the buffet. You could get a rib-eye steak there for under ten dollars…"

"I don't think so Clark," Diana interrupted as she spotted the security checkpoint and the gates. "I don't think anything here costs under ten dollars."

A unsmiling and uniformed security guard eyed their battered minivan suspiciously as they stopped. It only served to confirm Clark's suspicions.

"Well so much for our vacation. Should we turn around and get Jon?"

"Stop being foolish," Diana poked him in the ribs as the guard peered in through the lowered window.

"Do you need directions?" The guard evidently believed they taken the wrong exit off the highway on their way to the Wal-Mart.

"Um, we have reservations here for two days?" Clark said, rather more timidly than Diana would have liked.

"May I see your ID?" The guard's tone suggested he thought said reservations were largely in Clark's imagination.

Clark fumbled for his driver's license and handed it to the guard. The guard reluctantly went back into his booth. He seemed to take a long time.

"If Bruce forgot to put our names down I guess we can always go camping. The tent's still in the back," Clark suggested hopefully, and Diana thought he was more than half-serious.

She poked him again just as the guard returned, this time with a decidedly noticeable change of attitude.

"Yes, sir, ma'am, your reservations have been confirmed! Please enter and enjoy yourselves."

"Thanks," Clark pulled away and down the long avenue to the parking area. "Must be nice," he murmured aside to Diana.

"It certainly is." Diana leaned back in her seat, relieved.

The Amazon part of Diana couldn't help but assess the place as if it were a place to be besieged – she realized that the resort was designed almost as if to mislead the attacker, as it appeared to be designed like a maze, and perhaps would be as difficult to escape – that is, if one wanted to escape, which this utopia suggested would be an unlikely choice, as she surveyed the shops and luxury boutiques and other resort buildings. They didn't encounter any more obstacles as they parked the minivan.

"It's a big place – just where are we supposed to find Bruce?" Clark grumbled as he pulled out their luggage, surveying the acres of parking lot. "He never mentioned where we were supposed to meet him, did he?"

"He'll find _us_ , don't you know! But I think check-in is over there."

"Thataway, then," Clark shouldered his garment bag and took his wife's hand with the other.

Check-in fortunately was relatively painless, the staff extremely courteous and helpful, unlike their initial reception. They passed through what seemed like miles of bright spotless carpeting and walls covered with actual art, unobtrusive music lightly playing in the background, uniformed waiters and others moving quietly and efficiently about. There were plenty of people present, and Diana pointed out to Clark that they didn't look and better, or richly dressed, than they themselves were. Everything was decidedly normal, but that only seemed to trigger Clark's instincts to sniff out a story. Perhaps it would fit in for a series of articles he was planning on the minimum-wage. He had to admit this was an appealing place.

Once they arrived at their villa – bigger than their entire cottage! – they saw a welcoming bouquet and a towering basket of gourmet edibles on the kitchen table, with a note addressed to them pinned on it. While Diana went to inspect the bathroom, Clark took the note: he instantly recognized Bruce's handwriting. His note was as terse as all his communications were:

 _You kids enjoy yourselves, everything's on the house. Yes, Clark, I mean everything. Zatanna hopes you enjoy the show tonight._ _We'll see you at breakfast tomorrow at 8._

"Hmm. Looks like we'll have to wait until tomorrow then," Clark muttered. He had hoped to see Bruce right away. He put the note down and looked around the spacious room as Diana came out. She commented on the massive sunken tub in the bathroom, and then tested the springiness of the queen-size bed by throwing herself bodily on it.

"So looks like we have all this time until tonight. It's only 1pm. What are we going to do?"

Diana smiled at him suggestively. "We have plenty of time before the show tonight. I can think of several things we can do."

"Um…what do you mean, in your condition?"

Diana scowled. "You are pushing it, Kryptonian! Come here and say that to my face!"

She gripped him and pulled him down onto her, feeling his weight press down onto her, bouncing into the bed. There was more than ample room for the both of them. Clark smiled, a big one this time. Diana cupped his face in her hands. She felt the warmth in her palms, and she could imagine the sunlight pouring from his flesh into hers. She kissed him then, deeply, and he returned it, with enthusiasm. His weight pressed against, and she strained against him. His hands roamed down her body to rest a moment on her belly, where their new life rested, and below.

Clark raised his face. She stared at him challengingly. "Do you have anything else to say?"

He didn't.

They almost missed the show.

* * *

 _The next day…morning_

Clark turned the gold-colored tap and ran hot water into the basin. Steam soon began rising up into the air, fogging the mirror. He rubbed the glass clear with his fist and examined his face in the reflection – the ordinary face of a young man, with a significant amount of stubble, and somewhat bleary after a long night. Nothing really exceptional.

Sighing, Clark squeezed a good amount of shaving cream into his palm and rubbed the stuff into his dark bristles. He took his Pa's old straight-razor from its leather case; it had been in the family since the 1800s according to Kent family lore. It was one of several items he had salvaged from the old homestead, an heirloom that he had really had no use for, other than old memories, until recently. Hal, if he was here, would have called it a hipster affectation, but it was actually very useful to him now.

Slowly and methodically he began scraping his cheeks. Ever since his powers had been depleted he had used Pa's razor to shave his face; although he felt the resistance, but maybe he was just imagining it. The point was, he could still shave his face like an ordinary human, and that meant he was just as vulnerable too. He might have to get used to it for much longer, no matter what Diana said.

He heard the bathroom door open, and Diana hovered in the doorway, a hand on her hips.

"And I thought _I_ took a long time."

"I'm almost done," Clark said, splashing water on his face and adding a little aftershave. "We're not late, are we?"

"No, we've got plenty of time," Diana sidled up to him, and Clark jerked as she pinched him, in a sensitive spot. "Plenty of time if you _hurry up_."

Clark squirted shaving cream in her direction, causing a colorful Amazon oath to emerge. She pushed him out of the bathroom.

"Get yourself dressed!"

"What should I wear?"

"Whatever we brought, as long as it's not my clothes."

"Too bad, I was thinking about slipping into that little silky dress you wore last night," Clark laughed. "I kept thinking about it all yesterday."

"Good thing to know where your mind was, I could swear you were distracted by Zatanna."

"She was very good, wasn't she?" Clark enjoyed teasing her, although he well knew teasing Diana was always a risky proposition. "She's really got the sexy magician act down-pat, doesn't she? If she wasn't with Bruce, maybe…"

"You are pushing it again," Diana slammed the door.

"Maybe she has a magical sister somewhere?"

"You will be driving home alone!" She yelled from behind it

"You know I'm only joking!" Clark laughed.

Clark pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a shirt, and thought about the show last night. It was the first time he had seen her live on stage; it was a modest venue giving the act an intimate air and Zatanna had clearly tailored her act to fit it but she was stunning as always. He had enjoyed it very much, although he was never actually much for magick. He was also fairly positive that Zatanna used real magick in her act, although she never actually admitted it ('good magicians never give away their secrets,' she often said). But he had noticed Diana, seated next to him, being a little uncomfortable during those moments. She wasn't comfortable around magick, genuine magick, and he guessed it might be some Amazon thing, very likely a prejudice against magick, or magicians. He knew she was always worried that magick was his Achilles heel, but now, he thought ruefully, his heel could be anything now. Fortunately no one had taken advantage of it, thanks to his friends.

Diana came out of the bathroom, dressed in a colorful blouse and skirt, and Clark pulled her into a hug. She pressed her hands into his chest.

"Not now, we have to get going," she protested, but Clark saw the corners of her red lips turn into a smile. "You men, can you think of nothing else?"

"No!" Clark laughed. Both of them knew the reason for the levity. One way or another, questions had to be asked this morning, questions neither of them truly felt comfortable with asking. But it had to be done, sometime.

Bruce had texted them how to find them. There was a whole 'other' resort within the resort, little islands of exclusivity that offered privacy to certain very high-end clients, typically celebrities or high-level business executives…such as Bruce Wayne.

A limousine chauffeured by a liveried driver met them outside their villa (exactly as they emerged) and ferried them the few miles to their destination (apparently walking was discouraged). Bruce was waiting for them, alone, in front of the mini-estate that the car pulled up to, casually dressed and looking expectant.

"Clark, Diana," He was smiling warmly as the chauffeur opened their doors. "I'm glad you came."

"Thanks so much for inviting us," Clark embraced his friend in a hug. "We really needed this."

"Where's Zatanna?" Diana asked.

"She's inside, on the veranda. We already have breakfast set out. Did you get enough rest?"

"Of course," Clark stated, although maybe 'rest' wasn't the correct word for his and Diana's activities the previous evening. He seemed impatient to ask his questions; Diana rested her hand on his arm, her unspoken instruction for patience. They followed Bruce into the mansion home. Diana seemed uncurious but he stared at the interior furnishings - the place looked like a museum.

"This is some hotel. Do you stay here often?" Clark asked.

Bruce grinned. "No, this is my first time here actually. I thought it might make a nice change. Zatanna already had the engagement, just the one time as a favor to the booking agent here she knows. Her crew already left last night."

There was something in his face that Clark noticed, but couldn't define, a certain wariness. He wondered if there was something going on with the League that Bruce wanted to talk to him and Diana about but he didn't say anything else until they had joined Zatanna outside.

The Mistress of Magic was seated at the table on the veranda, which was heaped with coffee and cake. She smiled as they approached, but she didn't get up. Clark thought she looked a little tired; he guessed that was to be expected after an evening show.

"Hi guys! I hoped you enjoyed the show."

"It was terrific," Clark replied truthfully. "I'm happy I could finally see your show in person. I didn't know you could dance."

"Oh, thank you. I'm not really a dancer, my teacher said I was too clumsy! You know it might be my last live show in awhile," Zatanna added. But before Clark could ask her what that meant, Bruce spoke up and they somehow got on a conversation about something else, nothing related to their work. Clark found himself distracted as they all engaged in small talk, which in some way was a relief. He knew it was a procrastination but for now it was ok as they just relaxed in each other's company, as if they really were ordinary people. And the morning helped. It was pleasant to be outside: the sun was out, and there wasn't anyone else in sight. They could smell the heady perfume scent of the flowers planted all around the veranda. They really could have been on an isolated island, Clark thought, so peaceful it was here, no sounds of traffic or anything else.

Diana watched both Bruce and Zatanna. She couldn't help but notice that they had hardly touched their food, and, strangely, had hardly looked at each other. Both of them seemed a little tense, almost nervous, although she didn't quite understand why, and she couldn't imagine what Bruce had to be nervous about, especially here. Zatanna was unusually quiet. She glanced at Clark, but he seemed oblivious, continuing to yak about sports, which neither she nor Zatanna apparently, found particularly compelling.

"It doesn't matter that they're awful, everyone knows that," Bruce was saying in that stubborn manner of his about something or other. "But if you're born in Gotham City, or wherever, naturally you root for the home team, don't you find that's true Clark?"

"You sure do." Clark agreed wholeheartedly.

"I wouldn't know anything about it," Zatanna said. "I never really had a 'hometown.' I wasn't even born in America and after we moved here Dad and I traveled in our RV from town to town."

Clark's eyes suddenly lit up. "Ma and Pa always talked about getting an RV when they retired," he said. "They never did get one, but I've always been interested. What kind of rig did you have?"

"Oh! I think it was a Newmar. We had a used one, but dad customized it, in his own way of course. It was really very comfortable, just like a 'real' home. We went everywhere, almost all the states, even into Mexico one time."

"Did it run on diesel or gas?"

The conversation grew more animated as Clark and Zatanna began talking slide-outs, mileages per gallon, Class As versus Class Cs, and the costs of maintenance, while Bruce and Diana listened nonplussed. When Clark began asking what it was like for Zatanna as a child to live on the road, Diana grew a little alarmed.

 _Does this Argive actually want his family to live out of some sort of truck?_ She thought with ire.

"Clark, I don't think the _four_ of us can all fit in a motor home," Diana said mildly. Clark's face fell but Zatanna went to his defense.

"Oh, there's plenty of storage space, it's not like..."

Zatanna suddenly paled. Her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh. Uh...excuse...excuse me..."

She got up in a hurry and fled back into the mansion. Clark and Diana stared after her, stunned. Bruce didn't move.

"I'll go see if she's all right," Diana shot Bruce a curious glance as she followed Zatanna into the house.

Bruce Wayne continued to look down at the table surface, poked idly at a muffin with his fork He seemed totally unconcerned, which surprised Clark. It didn't seem like him.

"Has...anything been wrong with Zatanna?" Clark asked tentatively. "She looked fine last night."

"No, she's all right," Bruce said shortly. He said it with such certainty. Zatanna had just run out of here looking deathly ill but he didn't appear to think anything of it.

"How do you know?" Clark demanded. He knew if it had been Diana he wouldn't have just sat out here without checking on her, or acting...well, the way Bruce was acting.

"It's..." Bruce shook his head, pursed his lips. "How to say it..."

Now, Clark was concerned. "What's wrong? Are you two not getting along?"

"We're getting along just fine," Bruce said. "Really."

"Then, um, what is it? Maybe I can help…?"

"Zatanna's pregnant."

Clark sat upright, eyes widening, stunned with the suddenness of the announcement. For a moment he was genuinely frozen with surprise, a look that clearly the Dark Knight relished.

All thoughts of confronting Bruce with his questions, the security video footage he had uploaded to his smartphone and intended to show Bruce, had been thrown clear from his mind as if he had been slapped with wet Kryptonite.

"What? I…I mean, wow, that's wonderful! Congratulations!"

"She told me a couple of days ago. We didn't expect or plan this, much like you and Diana for that matter. I'm afraid...I don't think I reacted very well."

 _Bruce remembered Zatanna coming into his library, where he had been attempting to research a certain cousin's history, with limited success. His irritation must have showed on his face, which didn't exactly create an ideal setting. He had demanded to know what she wanted, maybe more rudely than he'd intended certainly, so she had just blurted it out. After that, things had gotten a little...hazy. The shock, he presumed. He had just sat there, in his chair, frozen and unable to utter a word, though hundreds if not thousands of words with their attendant meanings were swirling about in his head. Zatanna had just stared at him, not surprised at all, it appeared, from his reaction, like she was just waiting for him to say something. He_ had _wanted to say something, but it was taking such a long time. Finally, at some point, Zatanna had just left him alone, he thought, since when he came to his senses she wasn't there anymore in the library. He'd leapt up from his chair, suddenly frantic, thinking she had left the Manor, left him. But he'd found her in her room, lying on her bed, idly leafing through some magazine as if nothing had happened. He didn't remember exactly what he had said then, only that he'd fallen to his knees and grabbed onto her hands, babbling all sorts of things like how he would love and care for her and the baby and generally making an almighty fool of himself. Zatanna had just expressed an almost preternatural patience with him, as if she'd totally expected this type of reaction from him. All the while, Bruce thought, that feeling in the back of his mind that something..._

Clark stared at him. "Aren't you, I mean, aren't you, uh, happy about this?"

Bruce sighed. "I'd rather you not mention to anyone else in the League right now. I'll figure out the right time to announce it to everyone."

 _That wasn't really a yes._ "Of course, Bruce. I know everyone's going to be very happy for you, for both of you."

"Well, I'd prefer it be a secret for now," Bruce said. "After what I said about fraternizations in the League, I haven't exactly lived up to my own guidelines, have I?"

"That's ok," Clark said. He realized maybe this was why Bruce had asked him and Diana here. "Di and I will support you. Look, it's not always the easiest thing, but I wouldn't change anything for the world. Being a father is the most incredible thing that's ever happened to me, I mean it. Jon's everything to me."

Bruce nodded, looking slightly more relieved. "I thought...if there is anyone I could tell, it would be you. You would understand, of all people."

"Anything I can do to help you, you know I will!"

He didn't say anything. Bruce wasn't exactly reacting like how Clark thought an newly expectant father would. He looked uncertain, even a little wary. "You weren't expecting this, I guess."

"No. I thought I was being careful. Zatanna...well, it doesn't matter. She wants the baby, and if she does, so do I."

 _Do you really mean that?_ Clark wondered, but then Bruce offered one of his rare smiles.

"You know I'll support her every way I can."

"I wasn't worried. I know you'll do the right thing." Clark said instinctively. "If there's anything I and Diana can do to help-?"

"That's one of the reasons we asked you and Diana to come out here this weekend, we wanted you to be the first to know. Other than Alfred, of course."

"I'm sure he's very happy."

"Delighted," Bruce sighed again. "He'd almost given up on the Wayne line having a future."

"Well, now it does!" Clark clapped his friend on the shoulder. Bruce winced.

"You're getting stronger, I can tell."

Diana found Zatanna in the bathroom (the second one she'd checked, there were quite a few in this place), and heard the unmistakable sound of retching. She found Zatanna as much as she expected, 'worshipping the porcelain goddess' as she'd once heard it put, or, puking her guts out as it sounded like.

"Zatanna, are you all right?"

"What?" Zatanna looked up, her face wan and sweaty. "Oh…I'm fine, it's…it's nothing. I'll be ok."

"Hm."

Diana fetched a washcloth and ran cold water over it. She handed it to Zatanna, who took it gratefully. She wiped her mouth and managed to move herself to the plush linen couch in the sumptuously appointed bathroom. She looked better now, as far as Diana could tell, but...

A sudden illumination came to Diana, along with a sense of _deja vu_.

"Zatanna, you're not…?"

"I guess...you've been through all this before," Zatanna laughed shakily. "This is all new for me. I think I would have asked for a preview viewing first, though."

"By Hera!" Diana exclaimed, eyes wide. She sat next to Zatanna on the divan. "You and Bruce…?"

She nodded, for a moment looking very young, even a little embarrassed.

"But you said nothing during breakfast!"

"We did want to tell you today," Zatanna replied. "That's why we wanted to ask you here, somewhere private where we could tell the both of you. Somehow. Bruce, well, I don't know why but he thinks you'll think the worse of him."

"What?" Diana stared. "Why? I wouldn't think that at all!"

"You know Bruce."

"Yes I guess I do. He's always been the 'I'm in control always' type."

Diana appraised Zatanna again. She now realized that the tenseness she'd sensed in her was actually fear. "This is your first?"

Zatanna nodded. "We didn't plan this, exactly, it's all my fault really. I should have been more careful..."

Diana's eyes narrowed. "It's not anybody's 'fault.' It's not like Bruce doesn't share some responsibility. Why, did he say anything to you about that?"

"He said enough."

Some of Diana's old prejudice regarding men came to the fore. It must have showed on her face since Zatanna then said hurriedly. "It's not what you think. I know he'll do everything for the baby. He didn't act stupid...not too much, anyway."

"Then...is something else wrong? I mean, is there anything I can do?"

Zatanna had gone quite quiet. Diana waited patiently. For a moment the two women just sat there silently. Zatanna's face worked and for a worrisome moment Diana wondered if she was going to cry, but she didn't...much to Diana's relief.

"I don't think I ever told you. My mother died in childbirth. Dad never remarried and, and Bruce, you know that whole thing with his parents..." Zatanna shook her head. "It's just made him a little weird. I guess I _am_ worried. About me and him When I told him..., well, let's just say today he's doing much better. I think he wanted to shut me up in the Batcave for the next nine months."

"Hera," Diana shook her head. "Men." Suddenly she began to laugh, just very softly. Zatanna looked at her in surprise.

"What?"

"It is so, how do you say, I guess there isn't a word for it in English. The two of us, the way we are now, and those two. It's like taking care of two sets of children."

Zatanna smiled, and she laughed too. It was a relief, it was if someone had splashed a big jug of relief on her face.

"Can I ask you something?"

Diana nodded.

"Would you change anything that's happened? I mean, since you left Themsycira the first time. Was all this...everything you expected?"

Diana leaned back. "If you had told me, even five years ago, that my greatest happiness would be a man and bearing his children, I would have thought you were utterly mad. I didn't want to have anything to do with all that, I thought I was above it all. After I got to know Clark, it all changed, so _fast_ it seems like. I can't help sometimes but wonder how much of myself has changed. No, it was far from _anything_ I could ever have planned. But I would change nothing of it. I'm still Diana. Just…a little different. Older, for sure. Wiser too, I hope."

Zatanna took a deep breath. "Bruce wants to get married too. He didn't exactly propose, almost more like an order. He went on about how there's never been an 'illegitimate Wayne' - yes he actually said that - for over a hundred years or something."

"Really?" This morning was certainly full of surprises. "What did you say?"

She only lifted her shoulders. "Bruce is like a force of nature. It's not a bad idea, though, although I'm not sure how my fans will take it."

"I'm sure none of them can contend when Bruce is on the offensive!"

Diana then wondered what Clark and Bruce were up to, on their own. She imagined they must be having a similar conversation.

"Are you up to go back out?"

"Yes, I think so. We should, before those two get up to any trouble."

Before she could leave Diana grasped her shoulder.

"I know you and I haven't been...close, before, but this changes many things. I would be your sister, if you wish it. I could help you through this."

For a moment Zatanna looked very uncertain. But then she nodded vigorously. "Yes, I would like that very much. Thank you, Diana."

When they returned to their men, both could tell the news had been conveyed. Clark had the most boyishly attractive smile on his face, Zatanna thought, and he enveloped her in an enormous bear hug - he was really so strong, even depowered! - and congratulated her.

"I was surprised but not too surprised," Clark said. "I knew Bruce couldn't stand it, he has to catch up!"

"What? Oh," Zatanna looked at Bruce questioningly.

"That had nothing to do with it," Bruce stammered hastily. But Clark laughed.

"I'm just joking! But Jon's and his brother, or sister, we'll have to come up with a name soon, won't we Di? We'll be scheduling playdates before you know it."

"Indeed," Bruce's tone suggested not entirely domesticated. "I'll leave that up to you."

The rest of the day was mercifully conventional, they spent it all together, at the spa and then back at the mansion-villa. Zatanna didn't mention her pregnancy, other than to say she felt ok, and that she wasn't far enough along for Clark to detect a heartbeat - if he could, that is. She wasn't sick again, and soon it was time for Clark and Diana to leave, and fetch Jon.

"We'll be seeing you, soon?" Diana asked. She had watched Clark to see if he was going to bring up the 'incident' but it seemed to have flown from his head. She would take him to task for it later.

"I'll be back at the Watchtower tomorrow," Bruce said, then he looked at Clark. "How is your investigation coming?"

Clark shook his head. "No leads. Lois wants me to drop it and focus on something else. You haven't found anything either?"

"No," Bruce admitted ruefully. "And I don't like that. We all need to be more careful. It's been too quiet."

"Quiet is a good thing," Zatanna said. "Let's hope it stays that way!"

 _Not bloody likely,_ Diana thought, but she hoped it would, for her and Zatanna's sakes, anyway. Soon they would be occupied with other things.

The limo pulled up and soon there wasn't an opportunity to continue the conversation. They said their goodbyes.

Bruce and Zatanna watched the limo leave. "So, that's done. I'm sure the news will be all over the League soon."

"Oh, no it won't-"

"He's going to see J'onn J'onzz to pick up the kid. J'onn will read everything. That alien is even worse at concealing a scoop than Clark."

Zatanna shook her head. "I don't know what you're worried about. No one will care, I mean, everyone will be supportive, just like they were with Clark and Diana when they had Jon, except _you_ maybe."

"Perhaps you're right."

Bruce didn't share his thought that there may be a few who wouldn't. He half-suspected Huntress might be one, the way he had caught her eyeballing him when she thought wasn't aware. There was also the way Hawkman had looked at Zatanna once or twice, and it wasn't jealously, he was damn certain. Almost as if she were some kind of enemy, although Bruce didn't understand why that was. Something about the Thanagarian made him think that he would need to keep a closer watch on Zee, especially now.

And Selina. She would find out eventually. Well, he would deal with her later.

"We should get back. Alfred will be worried about us."

"Why?"

Bruce stared at her. "If you think I'm the overprotective one, you don't know how Alfred can get!"

"All right."

She squeezed his hand. "Do you want to leave with me?"

Bruce shook his head. "There's a few things I need to take care. Have Alfred prepare something for dinner. I'll be back home in a few hours."

"All right." She looked at him a moment and then kissed him, just lightly on the cheek, then stepped back. " _Nruter to enyaW ronaM_."

Bruce stood there alone, for a moment. He thought he might have a little bruise where Clark had clapped him on the back. He really was getting stronger, if he didn't quite realize it; perhaps he would have to relearn to deal with his strength all over again. One thing was for certain - he didn't have his x-ray vision in place yet. Otherwise, he may have noticed the sheaf of papers he had tucked inside his jacket pocket. He could feel it in there, almost as if it were a living thing. The letter from his long-presemed-dead cousin, not dead at all of course, but not quite as a living human being either. It had not left his person since he had received it together with the portrait. It now hung in a sealed off area of the Batcave, very close to where he kept his small portion of Kryptonite. He had spent some minutes alone with it, staring at it in the light of the green meteorite, contemplating what was written in that letter.

 _"I believe I don't have to counsel you on the forces that are currently being arrayed against you and your allies,"_ the author had written in spider-thin elegant calligraphy. _"But they are drawing closer daily. I suspect that you will want to avail yourself of any power that may help you. I understand that you are now in the possession of several ancient tomes which you believe will provide you that power. They are indeed books of POWER but you must learn how to understand them. Others, perhaps your enemies, also have such texts, but they will destroy themselves with the knowledge contained therein, or at the least misunderstand what is REALLY meant. People are so illiterate these days! However I shall provide you the means to truly comprehend what you seek. You, my dear boy, have a certain shall we say IMMUNITY due to your experiences on the island of the Amazons, and what happened when-"_

There were, indeed, instructions contained in the letter. He had not pursued them. Not yet. So much was happening, and it was a little faster than he was comfortable with. He was also note quite comfortable with Randolph Carter's reappearance in his life. His life, which had taken such a strange and unknown turn.

Carter had written something about that also.

 _"...And I certainly don't wish to interfere in your personal life, however your choice of companions compels me to caution you of their intentions. At the end of the day, a witch is a_ witch _and she has her own agenda. Surely you must have witnessed her powers, and her familiars, in action. That she has attached herself to you may not suggest a convivial attraction but likely a means to her own ends..."_

Bruce's fists clenched. Zee wasn't a malevolent woman, he was certain of that. Yet everything that had happened, and now this...it was so sudden...if only he could be _sure_.

One thing was certain - he needed to know more. Whether or not Zatanna had been truthful in every thing, it didn't matter now. He couldn't risk her, and he couldn't allow himself or the League to be surprised by a sudden attack, from where he didn't yet know. He needed more information.

He resolved to get it.

 _To be continued..._

 **[A/N: Well, I hope you all enjoy the latest developments! I am afraid I just won't be able to update as regularly as before due to my job, but I will continue as long as I can. We might get a glimpse at what Harley and the Joker have up to, and especially Deathstroke. Also what Selina Kyle is going to make of all this :o]**


	20. Chapter 20 - Interlude II

**Chapter 20 – Interlude II**

Harley waited impatiently – the only way she was capable of waiting, actually – with her hands clenched on the steering wheel and her Doc Martens boot ready on the gas. Her customized Glock, all shiny and gleaming, and loaded, rested on the passenger seat. She was alone in the truck.

The truck was idling in a dirty, empty alley in Gotham. There were many such dirty alleys in Gotham City. This one happened to lead directly to the loading dock of a dilapidated warehouse where a certain shipment was in the process of being transferred from one company to another. The fact that it was happening at just past midnight suggested said shipment was not a routine delivery of paper towels or soap dispenser refills.

Harley was waiting for the little device tucked in her ear to give her the go-signal. She was antsy but only because she could feel the adrenalin surging through her. She had not taken part in a heist for weeks, nor even any big-time op since springing Mistah J from Arkham. It was high time for this gig, and what a gig it was! She was practically peeing her undies. But she waited. She would be patient, for her Puddin.

But really, the whole thing was very simple: one way or another her Puddin' had gotten a tip that a shipment of very, very top-secret equipment was on its way to someplace from Wayne Enterprises, and not from the Human Resources deparment. Try Research & Development. And since Wayne Enterprises was the height of technological R&D in the whole world, there was likely to be some fun toys in the lot. Very useful toys. Said shipment reputed to also contain ordnance, of the very BOOM-y kind. Anything that went BOOM was welcome in Harley's world, but she'd noticed that Puddin' seemed more interested in the fact that Wayne Enterprises was involved. Why not? They made the best toys! Everyone knew that! It really didn't matter to Harley. They could be hijacking pizzas, if it put a smile on her baby's face. A bigger smile, anyway. He'd been so moody lately, disappointed that the Batman hadn't been seen for some time. Surely he hadn't retired? One of the gang had innocently suggested that maybe somebody had offed him, and that had sent her Puddin' into a frenzy...and the man into traction. He didn't like that idea very much. Well, he always said they had a destiny together, although how that worked she wasn't quite sure. But then this opportunity came up and he leapt on it. Something to do, anyway. Yet Harley felt that this was somehow a turning point for the better.

The signal came. Harley stomped on the accelerator. The truck lurched forward with a roar, barreling straight down the alleyway. She didn't turn on the headlights until the last minute, so she could see the surprised look on the faces of the hapless couple of workers before they went _splat_! She hit the warehouse doors hard, but they crumpled like paper under the thrust of the 7-ton truck. It rolled into the cavernous warehouse blaring its horn and screeching its tires. The people who were in the building scattered as armed men emptied onto the floor from the back of the truck, wearing masks and costumes more befitting performers at a children's birthday party than hijackers and bandits.

The air was immediately filled with the roar of guns and curses and shrieks. The stunned warehouse employees fled, while the few who provided security tried to resist and were quickly overwhelmed by the firepower and ferocity of the Joker Gang.

Harley dived out of the cab just as the windshield was shattered from half-a-dozen bullets. She rolled and came up with her Glock in her hand and her saw-toothed K-bar fighting knife in the other. She dropped one of the couriers who had managed to unholster his pistol, and another who hadn't. She ran pell-mell into the warehouse, firing at anyone who wasn't wearing a party-mask, symbol of the Joker Gang.

As much as she liked chaos, she knew where she had to go. The party could wait. While the rest of the gang dealt with the shrinking number of guards, she navigated the pathways in the back of the warehouse, in between stores of who knew what. Usually, she would pause to swipe something that caught her eye, but not now. She had to hurry. Her Puddin could be in serious trouble!

There were offices in the very back. Most were dark as regular staff certainly didn't work past 5pm. There was one office that was lit, its shades drawn. To Harley, it looked ominous like something out of a horror movie but she didn't hesitate.

Harley kicked in the door. Inside was the Joker, handcuffed and tied to a chair, slumped forward, his green hair hanging in his face. His elegant purple silk shirt had been ripped and torn, revealing his white skin beneath. His pristine pale beauty, marred now by several bruises and bleeding cuts! Harley's heart leapt. There were three other people in the room, two thickset dumb-looking guards and some greasy middle-aged fat dude in a suit. They all looked up in shock.

Harley recalled the plan. The Joker, alone, would make a clumsy botch at robbing the warehouse, which was owned by a local and small time mobster, a man named Carlo Silva - the plan was that he would be captured, fairly easily. The Joker, knowing something of said mobster, was aware that the small fry, rather than call the cops, wouldn't be able to resist squeezing him for information and the rep of having gotten over on the infamous Joker himself. Silva would bring him to his own office, exactly where Joker and his gang were tipped would be the goods. A tracker placed on the Joker would reveal the exact warehouse, as the man owned several in Gotham.

Harley hadn't been the most thrilled, but the Joker said he needed to brush up on his acting skills after his long stint in Arkham Asylum ("The worst audience, they applaud anything," he'd once complained), and he wouldn't be deterred. But it had worked. But now Harley wished she'd been a little faster.

"Da fuck?" One of the guards stuttered.

At the man's voice the Joker looked up. There was a bruise and a cut over his right eye also. "What took you so long, my dear?" He asked politely, as if Harley had just joined a tea engagement rather than a torture/interrogation session.

Harley didn't answer. Her eyes went to the corner table, on which lay a cattle prod, a pair of steak knives, and a set of brass knuckles. These were items she was familiar with…but only in a private and intimate way, of course. To see her Puddin' tied up, and those things used on him – by someone else other than _her_ – infuriated her into sheer homicidal frenzy.

One of the burly guards lunged at Harley but she was faster. She ducked under her arm and deftly slit his flesh which bulged over shirt collar, which soon was dark red. His eyes widened and he went down with barely a sound. Before the other guard could react she had plunged the six-inch blade into his face, straight through his eye. The guy stumbled around blindly for a second before joining his co-worker on the floor.

"Waita minute…wait!" Silva threw up his hands. "I didn't do nothin', I was just asking him some questions, here, take my wallet, take-"

"Eat shit!" Harley snarled and blew him away, rendering him fairly unable to eat anything, much less shit, ever again.

The mobster fell across Joker's lap, causing him to grimace. "Baby, are you ok?" Harley cried out.

"Do I look ok? I have a fat corpse in my crotch! Get him off me!"

Harley obeyed, and soon the Joker was free from his restraints. He ignored Harley's attempts to bandage him up, wanting to see immediately what the gang had acquired.

Johnny Frost ran up just as Joker put on a fresh shirt. "You okay Boss?" He had argued against the Joker putting himself at risk this way but to no avail. No doubt, he thought, the Joker would just get off on it.

"Never better! Where's our stuff?"

"It's exactly where we thought it would be, and it's pretty much what we thought it would be. Experimental drones, snooping technology, some remote-controlled ordnance-"

"The boomy stuff," Harley said dreamily.

"Yes, Harley, the boomy stuff. Plus some others, all destined for a place called S.T.A.R. We think that that's some federal black ops site. We're getting it loaded up and we'll be out of here in a minute. But…there's something you ought to see."

Joker's eyebrow went up. "A surprise? I do like surprises! Come Harley, let's go see."

Joker and Harley followed Frost back into the main space of the warehouse. As he said, the gang was loading large, locked metal boxes into waiting vans. They all looked identical, stamped with the Wayne Enterprises logo. There was only one left. But it was what was sitting on top of it that attracted their interest.

It was a small box, perhaps the size of a shoebox, wrapped in bright paper like a birthday or Christmas present, minus the bow. Circus clowns decorated the paper. Needless to say, it stood out.

"Who put that there?" Harley demanded.

"No one we know. It was there when we secured the place. Just sitting there." Frost nodded to a couple of dead guards lying in the corner. "Not like we could ask them."

Harley noted the package with interest. "Well, it does stand out from the rest of the junk. Maybe it got mixed up between couriers. Some kid's gonna be missing his toy."

Frost was suspicious. "I dunno," he said. "I have a bad feeling about it. Looks a little too pat, almost like it was sitting here waiting for the boss to notice it."

"Hm," Joker wondered. "Or, something special? Just for little ol' me?"

"Could be a booby trap." Frost warned. "There's no way anyone coulda known you were coming but-"

Joker smiled brightly. "Maybe you should open it then, just to make sure I won't get hurt."

Frost sighed. He had really walked right into that one. Next time – if there was a next time – he would keep his mouth shut and let his psycho boss get blown straight to hell.

However, he did as he was told and carefully unwrapped the package with hands that shook only a little. The paper was just wrapping paper. Within was a small lacquered box, like something from the Orient, decorated with geometric designs that didn't quite look either Chinese or Japanese or Korean. Harley's first thought was that it was very pretty.

"It's not a bomb," Frost said with certainty, due to prior knowledge of such things.

Joker took it peremptorily from his henchman. He felt it over with his hands - fortunately the thugs hadn't thought to hit him there. He pressed down on a corner and a drawer popped out. Both he and Harley saw it contained a single slip of paper.

"What is it, some kind of fortune cookie sayin'?" Harley reached for the slip of paper.

The Joker swatted her away upside the head, nearly knocking her off her feet. "It's for _me_ ," he said. He took it out and read it, holding it in a way that only he could see what was written.

Harley, regaining her balance, saw that her Puddin' was taking an awful long time reading the note. He was still staring at it while she hopped impatiently from foot to foot. How many words could fit on the dang thing?

"What does it say, Puddin'?" She whispered, risking another upside-the-head. He didn't answer right away He was still being rather uncharacteristically quiet, and the look on his face too was odd. She and Johnny exchanged an uneasy glance.

To her surprise (she had really expected just to get hit again), he handed it to her wordlessly. To her bigger surprise, the paper had only one sentence on it. Seven words, no more, no less. It was printed in a cursive font, in small letters:

 _Who woundeth thee shall make thee whole._

There was nothing else, no attribution, no invoice, no note.

Harley read it again, this time aloud. "What does it mean?" Harley frowned, puzzled at the strange wording. "Is it from the Bible or something?"

Joker seemed to snap out of his weird trance then, and he rolled his eyes. "No, Harley dear, it is not from the Bible."

Harley scowled. "Then is it some kind of riddle? I thought that moron was still upstate."

The Joker didn't reply; he straightened, hand on chin, deep in thought. To Harley, it looked like he was trying very hard to remember something. Harley knew the feeling. Whenever she tried to think of happy memories of her childhood – or her life pre-Puddin' for that matter – she also got the same strained look. Only it seemed like what he was trying to remember wasn't exactly happy.

Finally, Joker just threw back his head and cackled. Harley relaxed a little. This was more like it!

"It doesn't mean anything…or maybe it does…either way, dear Batsy can't ignore this, and that's not even the icing on the pie."

"No, you mean 'cake,' Puddin'."

Now, Joker smacked her. "Pie. I like icing on _pie_."

"But who is it from?"

He paused, the strange look coming to his face again. "I don't know. I don't think it was from our former friend. He wouldn't know of our plans, I think. But it was in the shipment from Wayne Enterprises wasn't it? Maybe _he_ wrote it, or knows who did. Anyhoo, we'll find out once we ask him?"

Harley's eyes widened.

"You mean, we're going to ask Mr. Wayne himself?"

"Why not? After all, I'm sure he'd like to explain how some of this stuff works. Maybe even this." He handed the box to Harley, who held it as if it were made of solid gold.

"Wow!" Harley was really getting excited. What was Mistah J planning now? A kidnapping? Extortion? Would he reveal who the note was for? So many possibilities!

The stimulation was getting to Harley. She grabbed him, still holding the box.

"Now, Puddin'," Harley whispered hoarsely, her eyes bright with lust and madness. "Take me right here and now! On top of this!" She threw herself on top of the metal box left on the floor.

In response Joker grabbed Harley's knife, out of its sheath, held it up so that the tip was directly under her chin. He leaned forward so that his homicidal eyes stared an inch away from hers.

"You giving me orders now, babydoll?" Joker said in a tone that suggested murder, and had made people piss themselves.

Harley was not other people. She bared her teeth. Her canines seemed pronounced and sharp in the glare of the arc-lights. "You damn right."

Joker blinked and leaned back. "Oh. Well. Okay, then. If you put it like that…hahahaha!"

He slammed the knife next to her head, less than a centimeter from her ear, and yanked her pants down. She was wearing the thinnest of panties, which were now soaking wet. He ripped those away too, and bent his head into Harley's crotch. She moaned, grabbing his green hair with her hands and pulling him closer into her, spreading her legs wide.

Frost shook his head, turned and motioned the others to go back to the cars and get ready to go. This would probably take some time, and he didn't need to see all that, and especially not the Joker's pale white schlong. He had more pressing concerns, not least what exactly what the Joker was planning to do with all his new toys. He only told Frost as much as he needed to know. One thing was certain: this stunt was something the Batman would surely not ignore. There was stuff in there he was certain that many powerful people would miss. If he wanted the Bat's attention he would get it.

Frost got back into his Mercedes with his top man, a dude who liked to wear an Elmer Fudd mask for some reason. He glanced into the rearview mirror, where he caught a glimpse of the Joker, his pants around his ankles, now thrusting rapidly into Harley's willing body. He could distantly hear her yell, _"Harder, harder!"_ In that shrill, annoying voice of hers. If she was his girlfriend, she would have been at the bottom of Gotham Harbor a long time ago. Or he would be.

"The boss ok?" The Elmer Fudd asked.

Frost was about to say, "He's fine" but then he remembered the way the Joker had looked when he read that weird slip of paper in that lacquered box. He had never quite seen the boss look that way before, and if you had the Batman in front of him interrogating him personally, he could not have described it either. Almost as if, just for a moment, he recognized the writing, the paper, or what it meant. Almost as if he did know what it was...and that it was meant for him all along.

Frost shook his head. It was just some weird gift for a kid. Nothing to do with anything.

"Boss is fine," Frost replied. "Just doing his thing. Let's just get outta here."

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **[A/N: I felt like doing another Joker/Harley Quin chapter (so sue me!) I do want to get across that Harley is pretty vicious and homicidal – and crazy! I would see a Suicide Squad 2 with the same actors if they did one. I hope everyone enjoyed seeing Justice League, I liked it, and hope they do an extended release like with BVS. Meanwhile, the mysterious note is another puzzle piece of the mystery. Who left it? We will learn one of these chapters!]**


	21. Chapter 21 - An Unexpected Shock

**Chapter 21 – An Unpleasant Shock**

 _Gotham City_

In the dead of night, a lithe black figure darted above the rooftops, agilely avoiding the pools of light from the windows of neighboring towering buildings. No one spotted the mysterious figure as she rapidly descended from the towering heights to the dank city streets below - even if they were sharp of sight her body skin suit helped camouflage her. Even then, the shape did not slow its pace, only continued on, stopping only briefly to unlock a door positioned adjacent to a long-closed Chinese restaurant. The shadow disappeared, and the graffiiti'd streets were as empty as before.

Selina Kyle followed a series of badly-lit hallways, then down several stairs in the total dark. She had made this journey many times before, and the lack of light did not bother her at all - special contact lenses enabled her night vision. She went through other series of doors, and then she was in a better-lit although small, and rather cozy room. It was a little like a college dorm room, although what this little space had originally been used she didn't really know and doubted anyone in decades had ever been here. The room was equipped with a bunk, a table; with a microwave and stove, and a store of nonperishable food. In addition to such mundane supplies there was more sophisticated technology present than any freshman student could afford - and perhaps more than Fortune 500 companies could - and everything ran on electricity snatched ingeniously from the main grid.

Selina had many such boltholes throughout Gotham City, and in a few neighboring cities too. One never knew when they might come in handy in hiding from the cops and others. They were more than just places to hide from the long arm of the law – she used these hidden places to stash her gear, her swag, and other things. She used them when she wanted 'alone' time, or needed a quiet place to stitch up her wounds, both physical and emotional. She made sure each hideout had adequate medical supplies (and her medications, including mood stabilizers and anti-depressants), along with creature comforts. She could read, or meditate or do yoga, or simply sleep, something that didn't always come easy to her, given her particular lifestyle and profession.

Selina especially liked this place as it contained some rather valuable and hard-to-obtain electronic eavesdropping equipment, stuff she had snagged from the feds and even lesser reputable outfits. Real black ops stuff. Even better, some of it she had taken it right from under the Batman's nose, in some long-forgotten sleight-of-hand. She wondered if he even missed it, not like he couldn't buy something he lost or misplaced.

Selina took off her skintight suit and utility harness, until she was standing in her skimpy undies. She stretched her muscles and gave herself a little once-over with a washcloth from a small basin in the corner. She grabbed a soda from the mini-fridge, and stretched out on the bunk. She pulled the table closer, and from under it she placed a small box on its surface. It resembled an old-fashioned transistor radio – the retro quality of it appealed to Selina. But it was in fact a clever disguise. In fact, it was a listening device. She planned to do some intense eavesdropping indeed.

Months ago, and with no little trouble, she had placed a bug within the very Hall of Justice itself, and in one of the best possible places for intel: the men's locker room. Selina had gambled it would not be detected, it was the best available, and so far, as she could determine, it had not been detected. Who would suspect it there, rather than the Watchtower, or the Monitor Room? However, Selina knew sometimes the most important topics weren't always discussed where you expected them. She thought it was worth listening to their burps, farts, and god knew what else, in order to get some useful snippet of information, and there was always plenty of gossip. Gossip could be useful in its own right. Also, now, she knew who was sleeping with whom and all sorts of stuff that would scandalize the clueless public who thought the League were just a bunch of goody-two-shoes. She knew better!

Selina snuggled in, with a magazine, and turned on her eavesdropping device. Actually, though disguised as an ordinary AM/FM radio, she could get some local stations on it, so she listened to that at first. It was the usual bullshit news: sporadic violence in various third-world countries, unemployment issues, wildfires on the west coast.

She fiddled with the stations and paused for a minute when she heard a recognizable voice, although a somewhat disagreeable one. The _Lex Luthor Letter_ was on tonight, although she thought it was a rerun. He was on his usual spiel: not so subtly trying to discredit the Justice League.

 _"And next on our show, we have Rev. Kevin Marx, the president of the Council for Family Values. Nice to have you back on the show, Reverend."_

 _"Thank you, Lex, and let me just say it's an honor to be on your show, you're a great American!_

 _Now, our listeners may know that you're the author of "The End Times Revealed" and "Our Fallen Society." I understand you've written a new book, can you tell us what this one's about?_

 _Yes, Lex, I can, my next book is The Great Lie, and what it's about is something you know a lot about Lex, this so-called Justice League. In this book, which you can order directly from my Web site, is about the false premise that these fake gods are trying to shove down our throats. Lex, these metahumans are straight from the devil. Let me give you one example, this Wonder Woman, a woman who openly - openly! - admits to worshipping false gods! She is setting a terrible example for little girls all over the world, teaching them to behave in ways contrary to what is set down for them in the Good Book - to serve and obey their fathers, husbands, and Lex, you know just as well how she is such a violent person..."_

 _"Don't I know it!"_

 _"Lex, I call upon the good American people to reject these false heroes and idols, and if you read my book - again, available for $15.99 on my Web site..."_

Selina turned down the volume, frowning. She didn't believe a word of it, and wondered how on earth Luthor could even tolerate such an moron, even if he did serve some kind of purpose for him. She knew from personal experience what a user looked like. Or perhaps Luthor and this religious nut were more alike than they seemed. Yet she thought with some unease that his show was getting popular every day. Some people were listening to his message, and the more that Superman stayed out of the picture, for whatever reason (she had heard he got injured somehow, but she'd heard mixed stories about _that_ ) the more Luthor seemed to spout off. You'd think he'd be happy with Superman gone, but somehow it just seemed to galvanize more of his and others' crazy conspiracy theories. Anyway, as far as she was concerned, it was none of her business what Superman chose to do, as long as he stayed out of her business.

She turned off the radio half of the device, then fiddled with it as best as she remembered the complicated instructions. It really wasn't that difficult, some minutes of static and then she got what she wanted. It was audio only, charmingly lo-fi in this era of satellite spyware and micro-drones that could scan through your brainstem. Selina knew that Bruce and the others would be on their guard for those things, maybe not so much something like an old-fashioned listening voice from the Roger Moore-James Bond-era. It might be discovered eventually, but hopefully she would get some good stuff before it did. She didn't really care if Bruce knew it was her, or not. It would serve him right for the way he'd treated her, and after all the years that they'd known each other, ever since childhood! What, she'd been twelve and him ten, when they first met, hadn't it been? He'd been so naive, so helpless, and she'd done her best to show him the ways of the street, and how had he paid her back? Trying to lock her up! So much for her _help_. She'd had a thing for him once, and she'd thought he'd felt the same, but he was too messed-up, inwardly, she thought, to really have any real emotions. She was certain of that.

There! The noise cleared and then she heard background noise. Chatter, and what sounded like some doors opening and closing, equipment being dropped. Perfect, maybe'd they'd just come in. Then she heard voices. She could recognize all their voices: the Flash, Oliver Queen aka The Arrow, even the Cyborg (why he would be in a locker room she wasn't quite sure). She expected the usual banter, maybe they might mention some bit of operational info that could prove useful later on. As she listened, it sounded just like boring chit-chat, who was doing what after work and what were they watching on TV, maybe.

 _"Can you believe it?"_ That sounded like Barry Alien, Selina was certain.

Oliver: "Hardly. You think it could be some sort of, I don't know, a setup?"

Barry: "Like what?"

Oliver:"Well…I don't know. Like a charade, I mean. They're acting this out in order to throw people off."

Barry: "Throw who off?"

Oliver: "Well, I don't know!"

Barry: "It's so sudden. The way he said it, just announced it at the end, like an afterthought. I think he was a little miffed that everyone just sat there for a second and didn't say anything."

Cyborg: "Well, it was a bombshell, wasn't it? What did he expect?"

Barry: "Could you imagine if everyone had started laughing like it was a joke? Ohmygod, he would have been so _pissed_ , you know it!"

Selina was starting to get bored: she had no idea which TV show they were talking about and did not care. She had a few fashion magazines lying aboutand was about to fetch them when Barry said something that made her freeze stock still.

Barry: "Well, I heard that he's redecorating the whole Manor, just for the event, and he's invited all the Gotham bigshots, and all these other people, even that Facebook guy."

Cyborg: "I hope Alfred isn't doing all the work!"

Selina forgot about the magazines, and sat up, listening intently. What big event? What was he doing?

Oliver: "So, when's the big event? I must have missed that part"

Barry: "I think he said month. He's really wasting no time, is he?"

Oliver: "Well at least there'll be a party! When Supes married he and Diana didn't do anything special did they?"

Selina's blood froze. Someone watching her would have noticed her face starting to pale.

Cyborg: "No that was more a private thing. Diana's not big into ceremonies and all that jazz."

Oliver: "That's what I'm sayin'. You'd think Bruce would want something private too but he's going to make a big thing out of this. I just get the feeling he's planning something else."

Cyborg: "Um, like what?"

Oliver: "Like I said, I don't know but maybe-"

Barry: "Or it could be just what _she_ wants. Maybe it's all her idea, to have a big shindig."

Selina's mind was struggling to process what she was hearing, even her emotions were starting to do a salsa. Manor? Ceremony? And who that FUCK was 'she' and what was a 'shindig'?

Barry: "Well, I'll be waiting for my invite!"

Oliver (snorting sound): "You'll be waiting for a long time! We know Batman we're not supposed to know Bruce Wayne. I'm sure that will raise a lotta questions when a bunch of nobodies shoes up at his VIP wedding."

Selina had to grab something to avoid falling off her bunk. She felt faint. Her mind starting racing with wild thoughts, even before the words sank in. Talia? But she was dead, she was positive. Someone else in the League? She couldn't think of anyone. Hawkgirl wasn't even the same damn species. Her mind thought of Helena, the Huntress, but she had thought she was a lesbian.

Barry (sounding wounded): "But that doesn't mean we won't get invited, does it?"

Cyborg: "I imagine we'll be doing security. Offsite, I suppose, or incognito. Dinah's heard that we'll be 'undercover.'"

Oliver: "Well, as long as we get fed I don't mind..."

Selina stared at the radio equipment as if had just sprouted tentacles armed with nasty little suckers. She thought the phrase, 'make your blood run cold,' was just a colorful descriptive, but now she found that it could be very, very literal. That's exactly what she was feeling. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. She was torn between picking up her eavesdropping device and smashing to a billion pieces, and listening to more. She had to found it more. Who, for instance.

She didn't have to wait for long.

Barry: "Well, no matter if we get invited or not, I'm happy for Zatanna. She's always been cool, and I think they make a cute couple."

Several choice epithets escaped from Selina's mouth, although she wasn't even conscious of them. This time, she really had to grip something.

Oliver (smugly): "I knew they were banging from day one! Dinah tells me everything. You know what she calls... _it_ , don't you?"

Cyborg and Barry, simultaneously: "What"

Selina stopped breathing.

"No, what?"

"Her _other_ magic wand!"

The channel was then filled with raucous dude-bro laughter, as Selina involuntarily leapt up from her bunk, unfortunately hitting her head on the corner of the overhanging shelf above. She collapsed back onto the bunk, writhing in that exquisite pain that is unique to banging-your-head-unexpectedly-on-something-hard. Tears filled her eyes as she squeezed them shut in agony. Once the pain receded somewhat and she wiped her eyes, the assholes were talking about sports. But Selina had heard enough.

She couldn't believe it. She wouldn't have guessed. She hadn't talked to Zatanna in months, not like they were pals or anything, but...really why wouldn't she...why? How did this happen? Why did Bruce let it happen? There was no way, no way in HELL.

 _Zatanna, you…you…WITCH!_

Selina clenched her fists, and her teeth, and she had to resist an overwhelming urge to immediately charge straight to the Hall of Justice – or the Manor – and kick Bruce's trillion-dollar ass. Absent from her mind was the reality that she and Bruce had not been together for years, or that, if given the opportunity, she would even want to be with him again. It didn't matter, there was a part of her brain that didn't exactly fall into the 'healthy emotion lobe' category. Foremost in her thoughts was the sensation that something had been stolen from her. Some part of her knew it was irrational, but it was subsumed by the overwhelming feelings of pure rage. A twisted smile curled her lip.

 _Just you wait, you cunt_ , Selina thought. _Don't think your fancy magic is going to protect you once I have my claws out!_

 _To be continued…_

* * *

 **[A/N: Happy New Year everyone! I'm glad you're reading this and hope you get some enjoyment out of it. I get enjoyment out of the reviews ;) I'm happy to know you got some reading enjoyment from the** **fic, and also I get enjoyment if you didn't and I wasted minutes of your life that you'll never ever get back haha! Just don't take anything seriously, it's not like this is the Star Wars movie ;) I hope to have a chapter up once a month, and maybe this will be finished by end of next year. What will Selina do to Zatanna? I don't know but she better have some magickal safeguards up, lol. Have safe holidays!]**


End file.
